The Conviction of Solitude
by Katherine Tag
Summary: Ran and Youji have trouble, make trouble, and get into trouble. Everything you've never seen in a YxA AxY fic. We defy convention, break assumptions, and write lots of ahem. [Complete]
1. One

Welcome to my first collaborative fic! This is a joint effort between me and Missa, so drop us a review and tell us how you like it!   
  
There is a small prequel to this fic called Vanilla. It is available at my site (see bio)   
  
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The Conviction of Solitude   
  
One   
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Omi thundered down the stairs and flopped back onto the couch after showing Manx out. "She said it was up to us to plan," he said, making a grab for his soda can on the coffee table. "They'd like the mission completed by next week."   
  
Ken glowered next to him. "This sucks," he complained. "This guy doesn't go anywhere, do anything. What're we supposed to do?"   
  
"He'll be hard to catch," Youji agreed. He was sitting in the armchair, long legs propped up on the table, playing with his lighter. "All he does is pick up prostitutes."   
  
Ran flipped through their file on the target from his customary place against the wall. "He likes young males with western features," he read aloud.   
  
"What?" Ken sat up.   
  
Dropping the folder on the table, Ran pointed. Ken and Omi leaned forward, their heads together as they skimmed the page.   
  
Ken finished first. "Well, that leaves me out, then," he announced, looking pleased. He looked Ran up and down, shook his head, and grinned at Youji. "And of course Omi can't do it." Shrugging, he looked back at Ran.   
  
"No," Ran said flatly. He crossed his arms. Ken and Omi didn't know he was gay, but if they thought he was going to prance around half naked in order to entice some low life scum into a hotel room they had another think coming. The idea of anyone like that touching him made his fingers twitch and long for his katana.   
  
"Oh, so I'm the default whore?" Youji abandoned playing with his lighter and lit a cigarette, ostensibly ignoring Omi's disapproving glare. "Lovely."   
  
Ran kept his mouth shut. What could he say? Anything he could think of would come out sounding like this was something that Youji should be _good_ at.   
  
"Youji-kun, you're the only one." Omi slid the file toward Youji. "Please don't take it the wrong way."   
  
Youji growled around his cigarette, but he took the file. "I'm blaming this on you," he told Ken.   
  
"What?" Ken spread his hands innocently. "You're the one that's had the most experience with this sort of thing."   
  
"Hey!" Youji cast around for something to throw, but Ran stopped him.   
  
"Shut up, both of you," he said. "We need to plan."   
  
Shooting him a wry look, Omi spread out the blueprints of a nightclub. "This is the club he frequents most often," he said. "He usually goes on Friday nights before his meetings. Our information says he never carries a briefcase to these meetings, so the documents Kritiker wants are probably hidden on his person somewhere. I don't think he would trust his bodyguard with them."   
  
"Shit, he has a bodyguard?" Youji ground out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"   
  
"There are private rooms back here," Ran tapped the map. "The bodyguard should stay outside."   
  
Youji leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Lemme see if I got this straight," he drawled. "I hang out at the bar, dressed like a fucking whore, pick this guy up, take him to a back room, and then kill him without his bodyguard noticing anything's wrong?"   
  
Ken burst out laughing. "Well, you could always fuck him first, to make it more believable."   
  
"Ken-kun!" Omi exclaimed.   
  
"Screw you, Hidaka," Youji said. "At least I'm familiar with the act."   
  
Ran slammed his hand down on the table. "Enough," he growled.   
  
"Okay." Omi, the ever present peacekeeper, made a mark on the map next to the bar. "This is where you'll be, Youji-kun. I'm too young to get inside, so I'll be running communications in the car somewhere out front." He made two more marks. "Someone needs to be inside the club, keeping an eye out for the target, and anything else that looks suspicious."   
  
"Please, let me," Ken interrupted. "I want a front row seat for this."   
  
Youji threw his cigarette butt at Ken. "You are _so_ gonna pay someday, Ken."   
  
"Oh, ew, that's disgusting Youji!" Ken jumped up, shaking out his shirt.   
  
Omi sighed. "That leaves you, Aya-kun, at the back entrance."   
  
Ran nodded. "That's fine." He hadn't been to a nightclub in years, and he had never felt comfortable in one. He was perfectly happy skulking around the back alley, sticking to the shadows. He looked over at Youji, still grinning from his small triumph over Ken. "Once Youji makes contact with the target, I want radio silence until he gives the all clear."   
  
"What about the bodyguard?" Omi asked.   
  
Ran thought for a moment. "These private rooms are close enough to the back door. I'll take care of him."   
  
"Great." Youji stood. "I'll leave you three ladies to work out the nitty gritty. I'm going out."   
  
"What, gonna practice for your big night?" Ken smirked.   
  
"If I need the practice, I'll look you up KenKen," Youji said. He leaned over the back of the couch, ruffling Ken's hair. "What's the going rate now? I'm sure you would know."   
  
Ran suppressed a snort of laughter and looked away. Youji had a big ego and a mouth to match, but Ran was sure that the man hadn't had a one night stand in quite some time. He drank to forget now, and he always came home alone. 


	2. Two

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Two   
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"Ken might as well have given me a fucking neon sign," Youji grumbled after he brushed off the third guy to hit on him that night. He'd carefully chosen his ensemble: tight hip-hugging pleather pants, cropped shirt, eyeliner making his eyes look even rounder. Apparently their target wasn't the only man in the club with an eye for young men with western looks.   
  
Lazily, keeping in character as a prostitute waiting to pick up his evening's company, Youji looked out over the crowd. Ken sat in a booth in the corner, nursing a beer and watching the door for any sign of their man. When Ken combed a hand through his hair, his thumb lingered over his ear, and Youji knew he was getting info from Omi, sitting out in the car watching the front of the club while Aya loitered around the back door.   
  
Youji's radio was switched off. He'd talked to Aya after they'd set the mission parameters. If he had to take this ruse as far as he feared he'd have to, he couldn't do it with the other three listening in. It was a last minute change, but nothing that should cause any problems; when the mission was accomplished, he'd switch his radio back on and give the all clear.   
  
The crowd parted as someone pressed through, waving off the few scantily clad boys and girls who tried to offer up whatever they could as he sauntered past, not even pausing. Youji's target was a fairly large man, muscular, hiding his bulk in a well-cut dark gray jacket over a black tee shirt and black pants. Another man, just as burly, trailed not too far behind. Youji expected that. Their information said the target never traveled without protection.   
  
"Hey handsome," Youji drawled when the target sidled up to the bar. "Buy you a drink?"   
  
The stare he was given in reply made Youji want to go take a shower. "Not a drink," the man smirked.   
  
Youji winked, though his stomach was churning at the thought of what was most likely to come. "How about buying me one?" he gestured to the empty shot glass in front of him, the one and only shot he'd allowed himself for the evening. Any more and Aya would kick his ass, but he'd needed something to steel his resolve.   
  
With that same smirk on his face, the man waved at the bartender. Youji tossed the shot back, the warmth filling and spreading through his stomach. At the target's nod, Youji slid off the barstool he'd occupied for the better part of an hour and led the man toward the back of the club where Omi had said the rooms were. Rooms that were intended for exactly what the target was expecting. Youji was rather ferverently hoping that it wouldn't come down to that.   
  
The door was ajar, signaling its vacancy. Youji slipped inside, getting a look at the contents for the first time. A chair, a threadbare mattress laid out on the floor, flush against the wall, that was all. He turned, what he hoped was an alluring smile on his face, and saw the bodyguard closing the door as he stepped inside the room.   
  
_Shit_, Youji thought. His stomach started to churn with revulsion at what had to happen next. His plan had been to get the guy in the room and kill him, quick and easy, but the bodyguard's presence made that a little more difficult. The instant he tossed out his wire, the guard would pull the gun that Youji was sure was tucked securely in a holster hidden beneath the well cut suit jacket.   
  
_Not good, not good_, the thought ran through Youji's head as the guard settled against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he took on a blank stare, seeing but not watching what was happening.   
  
With a disgusting leer, the target unzipped his pants and settled into the chair in the room, his directions clear to Youji, who was desperately trying to keep the whiskey from making a repeat appearance. Not feeling the smile he pasted on his face, Youji took two steps forward and knelt at eye level with the target's exposed cock.   
  
_Pretend he's Aya_, Youji thought, _pretend he's anyone else. You can do this_, he started up a mental litany to occupy his thoughts as he leaned forward, taking a deep breath. The man smelled like a man, musk and sweat and something else that was probably unique to him.   
  
Unsure what to do with his hands, Youji settled them lightly on the man's thighs, giving himself something to hang onto for balance. _You don't care_, he chanted to himself. _You're a whore, this is just another trick for you. You don't care, you do this all the time_.   
  
Youji hoped the man didn't feel him gag as he took the half-hard member into his mouth, closing his eyes and pretending the man was anyone else. He ran his tongue around the rapidly filling erection, his stomach roiling, the slight buzz from what little alcohol he'd ingested long gone.   
  
_You're a whore, you don't care. You're a whore, you do this all the time. Whores don't gag. You can have a shower when this is over. But for now you have to do this. You have to pretend you don't mind. Just pretend it's someone else._ Youji kept up the mental dialogue as he began to suck lightly. He had to time it right. A whore wouldn't take it slow like a lover, but wouldn't rush it for fear of not being paid.   
  
Somewhere in the midst of his mental chanting, Youji was dimly aware of a knock on the door. The target's hands clenched painfully in his hair, using his grip to pull Youji closer.   
  
The assassin heard the click of the door closing and opened his eyes briefly. The guard was gone. But Youji knew he couldn't just stop. The man he was knelt in front of weighed easily twice what Youji did, and the blonde had no doubt that he knew how to use that musculature.   
  
Hands tightened in his hair again, a breathy moan coming from above him. Youji risked a glance upwards. The target's head was thrown back, light sheen of sweat on his face, his breath coming in quickened gasps.   
  
_Don't swallow, don't swallow_, Youji chanted, _whores don't swallow_. Youji opened his mouth, wanting to retch as the bitter fluid passed along his tongue. He pulled away as the target started to come in his mouth, letting most of it run down his chin and over his face. He had never really liked the taste of another man's seed, particularly someone he'd never met and was going to have to kill. He turned his head and spat, at the same instant reaching for the trigger for his wire.   
  
While the target was still basking in his afterglow, Youji stood and looped his wire around the man's massive neck and pulled it taut, breaking his neck.   
  
_Mission accomplished_, he thought sourly, once more pushing down the urge to vomit. He moved to toggle his radio back on, but the sound of the door made him switch to his wire. 


	3. Three

I fixed the links to our pages on the first chapter so you can actually go to our sites. Sorry about that ^_^   
  
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Three   
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Ran flung open the door. He had waited an eternity in mission time - five minutes - after Siberian had reported Balinese leaving with the target. The bodyguard lay in a pool of slowly congealing blood where Ran had lured him in the hallway. Now his only concern was Balinese –   
  
Who was relaxing from a fighting stance, green eyes wide. Turning away, one hand coming up to cover his mouth.   
  
Ran's eyes flickered over the rest of the room. Mattress against the corner - empty. Peeling paint on walls. Dirty floor. Target - sitting in chair, pants undone, dick out, neck broken. Balinese - back still to him, gagging, shocky and pale.   
  
He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his gut. The bodyguard had been inside. Youji had been –   
  
He wanted to rip the man's head off. He wanted to desecrate his body, spread his blood over the floor, cut off the hands that had dared to touch, destroy the foulness that had dared to –   
  
Instead, he dug out the cloth he normally used to wipe down his katana and held it out to Balinese. "Here," he said shortly.   
  
Hand still scrubbing at his mouth, Balinese turned. He took the proffered cloth hesitantly. Ran tried not to see that his hands were trembling slightly.   
  
"Turn on your comm and wait outside," Ran ordered.   
  
Balinese nodded, slipping out the door quickly.   
  
Ran grit his teeth and put the look in Balinese's eyes deliberately aside. He heard the quiet click through his headset as Balinese toggled his radio on. Flipping the target's suit jacket open with his left hand, Ran carefully wiped his katana clean. He sheathed it and rifled through the man's clothes. Finding the papers Kritiker wanted, he shoved them into his trenchcoat, and, as an afterthought, pocketed the bulging wallet as well. It might come in handy sometime.   
  
He had half a mind to give it to Balinese, but decided against that on further reflection. Ran wasn't usually given to kind gestures toward any of his teammates, and he knew without a doubt that Balinese would misconstrue the whole thing.   
  
Youji didn't understand him anyway. Of course, that was because Ran wouldn't let him.   
  
With a last snarl at the corpse, he stalked into the hallway. Balinese was leaning against the wall, staring into space, smoking a cigarette. Ran grabbed his arm and propelled him toward the back entrance.   
  
"Siberian," he growled. "All quiet?"   
  
Balinese shrugged out of his touch, smoothing back his hair and shaking out another cigarette. He lit it with faintly unsteady hands.   
  
"Yeah." The heavy bass beat that infused the entire club crackled into static on Siberian's comm.   
  
"Good. Bombay, meet us at the rendevous in ten minutes. Abyssinian out." Ran shouldered open the heavy door, adjusting his trenchcoat to hide his katana.   
  
"Okay!" Bombay's voice was cheerfully tinny.   
  
"I'll find my own way home," Siberian said drily, and signed off.   
  
Sparing a quick glance behind him to make sure Balinese was following, Ran set off at a brisk pace. "Bombay will meet us a few blocks over," he said quietly. They had gone over this retrieval at the planning session, but Balinese looked sufficiently out of it to have forgotten.   
  
"Right," Balinese muttered around his cigarette. He shoved his hands into his pockets, shivering a little at the brisk autumn air.   
  
They walked in silence. Ran strode purposefully ahead. He had memorized the best route to the rendevous with Bombay last night. Periodically, he checked over his shoulder, looking for familiar faces, for hurrying footsteps, out of place expressions. There was no one. It was a relief. He highly doubted Balinese would be effective in a fight at this point.   
  
Not that Ran blamed him for that. He was angry, yes, but not at Balinese. They had counted on the bodyguard remaining outside. _He_ had _assumed_. It was his mistake. He should have known better than to leave anything to chance.   
  
He felt sick at the thought of what Youji had done for them.   
  
But with the possible exception of Siberian, who could be a little reckless at times, any one of them would have done the exact same thing. Save the mission, save your life, save your teammates lives. Weiss was all any of them had left in the way of family. Weiss was everything, their whole lives, their futures, their dreams and their nightmares. They were in this together, heart, body, and soul, and they had already sacrificed everything.   
  
Ran suppressed a pang of guilt as he thought of Aya-chan. He felt, sometimes, that he wasn't being fair to his teammates by keeping her a secret. But if they knew, then he would have to drop that protective shield that being 'Aya' had created for him, and bare his true self to their scrutiny. He wasn't prepared to do that.   
  
Not yet. Maybe not ever.   
  
Bombay was waiting on the designated corner, engine cold, lights off. He hurriedly climbed into the backseat as Ran opened the driver's side door. Balinese ground his cigarette underneath a boot heel and collapsed into the passenger seat without a word of protest.   
  
Before starting the car, Ran handed the target's papers to Bombay. They drove home in silence, because Ran preferred the radio off, and even in this throw-away car instead of his Porsche, he had the final say. The rustle of papers from the backseat was the only distraction, Balinese preferring to stare out the window at the city lights flashing past.   
  
The Koneko was dark when they pulled in. Ken obviously wasn't back yet. Youji headed toward the stairs without a word as Omi hopped out of the backseat.   
  
"Aya-kun, did something happen?" Omi dogged Ran's footsteps into the kitchen. "Youji-kun is awfully quiet."   
  
Ran was torn. This was something that could possibly affect Youji as an operative, but it was also something he knew the older man would probably prefer to keep private. He poured himself a glass of water from the tap.   
  
"Nothing happened," he said. 


	4. Four

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Four   
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Youji went straight for the bathroom. No sooner had he got the door closed behind him and his jacket off than he was kneeling in front of the toilet, emptying the contents of his stomach into the white bowl. He rested his forehead against the cool porcelain, unable to erase the taste and smell of the man he'd killed. Satisfied that there wasn't anything left to bring up, Youji rose shakily and moved to the sink. He closed his eyes against his reflection; he didn't want to look at himself. He didn't want to see the line of people he'd killed over his shoulder reflected in the mirror.   
  
He loaded up his toothbrush and scrubbed his teeth until his mouth was overpowered with the flavor of peppermint and his nose tingled from the smell. Youji imagined he could still taste the man on his tongue and he gagged again and spat into the sink, the sour taste of bile cutting through the mint.   
  
Blindly, Youji reached and turned on the taps for the shower. He knew that Ken and Omi would soon be pounding on the door for their turn, even if they didn't have to get dirty on this mission. Aya would let him take the time he needed; Aya had known, as soon as he'd stepped into the room, he'd known what Youji had had to do. The other two didn't and Youji wanted to keep it that way.   
  
The small room began to fill with steam and Youji quickly shed his mission gear, kicking everything into a pile against the door where he wouldn't forget it on his way out. He stepped under the scalding spray of the shower, the water turning his skin a splotchy red. He loaded his bath sponge with body wash, a light vanilla scent, and began to scrub at his body. The exfoliating sponge ripped the top layer of skin away as he washed, roughly running it over his body, trying to remove the taint he felt like he had worn home.   
  
Even the smell of the body wash wasn't enough to flush the scent of the man from his nose. How long would he feel like this? How long would it be before he ever felt clean again? How much blood must he wear on his hands before he could walk away?   
  
Youji continued to scrub at his body, kept trying to erase the feeling of being used, of being a pawn. It was only when the water began to cool and he heard pounding on the door that Youji realized that he'd scrubbed his skin raw.   
  
"Ch'," he swore softly. He stood under the water, tipping his head back and letting it wash over his face. He washed his hair quickly, before all the hot water was gone.   
  
There was no noise coming from the hall when he turned off the water. Pushing the curtain aside, he reached for his towel hanging nearby. He patted himself dry, frowning at the large patch of raw skin in the middle of his chest. Stinging on his arms made him glance that way, finding similar rising welts.   
  
"Fuck." He swore again as he rubbed down with towel before wrapping the absorbent cotton around his waist. He bent to gather his things off the floor, eyes meeting the mirror when he rose. It was still fogged with steam, so once more he avoided his reflection.   
  
The hallway was empty when he stepped out, steam billowing behind him like a cloud. He left the door open to let some of the condensation dissipate as he crossed to his room, chill from the open window, dark save for the sparse light of the street lamps cutting through the city's haze that never seemed to fade.   
  
His honey-blonde hair dripped onto his shoulders as he switched on every light in his bedroom, banishing the shadows to the furthest corners. He retrieved a pair of dark gray sweats and a tee shirt from his bureau. He preferred to sleep in the nude, but he didn't feel like sleeping, wasn't sure he could face the increasing demons that hunted him in his dreams. He slid into the sweats, pulling the drawstring so they fit snugly around his hips and slipped into the tee shirt, collar soaking up a bit of water left on his neck from his hair.   
  
Youji tapped a cigarette from the pack lying near his comb and lit it, taking a deep drag, holding the smoke in his mouth while he picked up the comb and began working the tangles out of his hair. Slowly, he blew the smoke up toward the ceiling. The nicotine helped calm him; he'd had only one while waiting for Aya to finish in the room where he'd left the body of the target, and another on the short walk to the car that hadn't helped him find his composure any. And of course, Aya wouldn't have let him smoke in the car. Smoking in the shower was something he did only rarely. He preferred his cancer sticks dry, thank you very much.   
  
Youji smoked slowly as he combed his damp hair, the action almost as soothing as the drug in his system. His hair had dried considerably by the time he was done, the fag replaced several times, the used butts joining its deceased comrades in an overfilled ashtray Youji could never be bothered to remember to empty.   
  
He shoved the pack of cigarettes into his pocket after shaking loose one more, lighting it with the lighter he kept in his hand and began to pace, his room only big enough for five strides before he had to turn. Even with the window open, he felt confined, even with the lights on, felt like he was slowly being consumed by darkness and shadow, being cast adrift, left alone to deal with his demons.   
  
Without thinking, Youji swung his door open and crossed to Aya's room, knowing that the redhead wouldn't be asleep. He didn't want to be alone, couldn't face the dark recesses of his room, let alone his own mind.   
  
He hesitated only a beat before knocking softly on the redhead's door. 


	5. Five

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Five   
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Ran started out of a light doze at the sound of a knock on his door. He lay blinking muzzily at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying to think of who would be knocking at this time of night.   
  
Not Youji. Youji never knocked.   
  
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair to tame it. Briefly, he considered a shirt, but it was too much trouble. His dresser was all the way in the back of his room, by the window. Unlike Youji, he didn't leave clothes on the floor. He liked his room to be clean. It helped him relax, as much as he ever could.   
  
"What?" he snapped, opening the door a crack and squinting at the bright light from the hallway.   
  
"Um." Youji shifted from foot to foot, not meeting Ran's eyes. His hair was hanging down around his face, leaving it in shadow. He was playing with his lighter with one hand, flipping it through his clever fingers like a coin.   
  
Silently, Ran let the door swing open wider, turning abruptly and going back to sit on the edge of the bed. Youji hesitated for only a minute before slipping through the open door, closing it softly behind him. He padded across the room to the window on bare feet, the loose legs of his pants swirling around his ankles. Wrapping his arms around himself, he stared out the window, absently tugging on the short sleeves of his t-shirt, as if he wished they were longer.   
  
"I don't want to do anything," Youji said. "I just," he paused, his mouth twisting, his eyes closing, "I just can't be alone right now."   
  
Ran shifted his gaze to his hands, clenched in his lap. He wasn't prepared for this. If Youji didn't want to do anything, he came looking for comfort, and comfort was one of the many things Ran was unable to give. He couldn't even console himself, resign himself to his own fate. How could he be close to anyone when he didn't feel connected to his own self?   
  
Youji cracked the window and lit up a cigarette, bonelessly flopping into the chair Ran kept by the window. He stared out, blowing smoke onto the street below, hanging his hand out the window to keep the majority of the smoke outside. Ran didn't make any protests about the cigarette. Let Youji have his small indulgence. It would do more to console him than Ran ever could.   
  
"Every time I look in a mirror," Youji started softly, almost like he was talking to himself, "I see a line of people over my shoulder, faces of people I've killed, or have died because of me. Her face usually looms largest, sometimes accusing, sometimes pitying. I added one more face to that line tonight, and I will never forget that face."   
  
Leaning back against the wall, Ran carefully kept his eyes fixed in front of him. He knew. Only it wasn't when he looked into a mirror. It was in his dreams, when he looked into his sister's eyes.   
  
Youji took a long drag, slowly exhaling the smoke out the window. "It's starting to wear on me," he admitted. "I drink now to forget, to sleep without dreams. The alcohol helps keep the ghosts at bay. There's nothing else I can do. They're my ghosts, I made them, and I don't know how to get rid of them. They haunt me," he whispered.   
  
Ran shuddered. Ghosts ... Kikyo stirred in the back of his mind, lips curled into a sneer, eyes cold and hard, voice sinuously weaving his spell of _guilt guilt guilt_.   
  
"How do you deal with it, Aya?" Youji asked, startling Ran out of his memory. "How do you kill every week and not let the weight of the blood on your hands crush you? My soul is stained; I knew what I was getting into when Kritiker found me, but I didn't expect this. I didn't expect to have the weight of so many treading across my conscience. We are told it's done for justice, but where was the justice in what I had to do tonight? I gave a target a blow job, and then strangled him with his dick still hanging out of his pants."   
  
Youji had moved from being quietly introspective to being angry with what he had had to do. And as quickly as he angered he slumped back into the chair, defeated.   
  
"It was part of the job, I know." Youji shook another cigarette out of the crumpled pack and lit it with hands that trembled faintly. "It had to be done, for the good of the team, for the mission, for justice," he fairly spat the word. "But I will never get that man's face out of my head, or what Ken said."   
  
Closing his eyes, Ran ground his teeth. He wanted to strangle Ken. He didn't want to be hearing this. He didn't want these feelings of ... protectiveness. His only real obligation was to his sister. He didn't need anyone else.   
  
"I'm not a whore," Youji whispered. "I'm not a slut. It's all a facade."   
  
Ran felt like clapping his hands over his ears like a child. Youji was dropping his mask, using him as a confessor. Would he expect the same in return? In the eyes of his teammates, he was Aya. That coldness he had pulled over his head like a blanket was his only protection against ...   
  
"The women, the dates, it's not true. No men either, not for a long time," Youji continued. "I go out to drink, I drink to forget. It's not about sex, or women, no matter what Ken or Omi or fucking Kritiker thinks."   
  
Youji sucked on his almost forgotten cigarette for a moment. "Don't you ever feel alone, Aya? Like you're cut off from the rest of the world, lost and adrift, and no matter how many people are around you're still the only one there? Technically we don't exist. Our IDs are fakes, our records missing from public databases. Are we going to die as part of Kritiker, our bodies "disposed of" since we're theoretically already dead? I've seen my marker. Can we ever escape this hell we've created for ourselves? Will there be anything for us on the other side if we do?"   
  
_Yes_, Ran felt like saying. _Of course I feel alone. You see, I am alone. Everyone left me. Ran is dead, and when Aya-chan wakes up, Aya will be gone too. And then what will happen to me? Who will I be then? Just a killer, that's all._   
  
"You three are all I have left, Aya."   
  
Ran could feel Youji's eyes on him, heavy with need. He turned his face away, staring at the door, twisting the soft cotton of his pants in his hands. He wanted to say, _Don't count on me, don't rely on me to be there. I'm nothing, I don't exist, I'm just a worn out, angry man whose only reason for surviving has already been completed._ (He could still taste the smoke and the coppery tang of Takatori's blood in the air, feel the shuddering resistance of bone and flesh, the dry crackling heat of the flames.) _Don't need me, because I won't need you._   
  
They sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Ran could feel the weight of Youji's expectations pressing down on him. He waited until he almost couldn't stand the pressure and then, finally, turned his face toward his teammate. "I –"   
  
But Youji was asleep, sprawled in the chair, cigarette still smouldering in his loose grip. Ran got up, standing over him indecisively. He didn't want –   
  
He didn't want to be so close, to acknowledge that this night had happened. Youji's face looked tired, even in his sleep, his lips murmuring restlessly. Ran gently extricated the butt from Youji's hand, crushing it against the windowsill and flicking it outside, closing the window all but a crack. He dragged a blanket off his bed, draping it over the still form in his only chair.   
  
He wasn't being kind. He didn't care. It was just that if Youji woke up, Ran would have to look into those wounded green eyes, and he would have to be reminded of his own deep wounds, wounds that had never healed because he had never let them have any air. Instead, he had smothered them, like he had smothered his memories, his heart, his soul. He had thought there was nothing left in him that could feel, but Youji had ripped that Pandora's box open for him again, and hope had fled long before. 


	6. Six

A/N: This part contains sex. Please don't read it if you think it will offend you.   
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Six   
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Youji threw himself down on Aya's bed, nearly misjudging and tumbling off the edge. The redhead wasn't in his room, but the lamp was on, so he hadn't gone far. The window was closed against the pre-winter chill, the room comfortably warm. The blonde stretched, his belly-baring shirt rising up his chest and Youji decided he was warm enough without it. He stripped out of it, tossing it carelessly across the room. His boots had been left by the back door, damp and a little muddy from not missing a puddle in the back lot.   
  
Settling back against the mattress, Youji sighed, tucking his hands behind his head, wanting a cigarette, but since he didn't have a death wish, he refrained. He lay there for a minute, finally deciding his pants needed to go. Unsteadily, he stood to unfasten them, stopping when the door opened and Aya stepped through, a bath towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist.   
  
Aya stopped short. "What are you doing here?"   
  
"What's it look like?" Youji winked and grinned, stalking forward. He pressed himself against Aya, standing in the middle of the room, dripping a little, still damp from his shower, warm and fresh smelling. Youji stepped closer, breathing the moist air around the slim form of his lover, bringing their bodies together. Slowly, he leaned forward, dipping his head slightly and meeting Aya's lips with his own.   
  
Youji pressed the kiss deeper, turning them around so Aya stumbled back toward the bed with Youji leaning against him. The towel wrapped tenuously around the pale man's waist came loose, tangling around his legs. When his knees hit the bed, Aya sat, Youji's momentum pressing him back.   
  
Youji pulled away when the need for air overrode the delicious feeling and taste of Aya's mouth. He used the opportunity to push his pants down over his hips and kick them over the side of the bed while Aya slid further back so his legs were no longer hanging over the edge. Restrictive material gone, Youji draped himself over Aya, pressing his lips against Aya's again for a brief moment, then trailing wet, open mouthed kisses over his jaw, down his throat and over his chest.   
  
He continued down, tracing a line with his tongue down the center of Aya's chest, bringing his hands up to tease nipples into hard points, listening to Aya's breath become more ragged, less controlled as the more base demands of his body took over. When he reached Aya's belly button he paid it special attention, laving it with his tongue, feeling Aya's cock twitch at the sensations.   
  
He moved further down finally, taking Aya into his mouth, breathing through his nose the scent of his lover, soap and musk. He wrapped his tongue around Aya's length, pulling back slowly, exhaling through his nose, trying not to grin at the small gasp Aya made at the contrasting sensations. Youji used his tongue to push aside Aya's foreskin and lap at the fluid leaking from the tip of his cock, Aya's hips arching up, seeking more contact as his body shivered in reaction to the intense stimulus.   
  
Youji felt hands tangle in his hair, clenching, but not uncomfortably tight as he took Aya into his mouth again. He relaxed his throat as far as he could, burying his nose in the rough red curls at the base of Aya's shaft. Aya's legs came up around his waist as he began to suck, the slightly rough skin on the redhead's heels scraping across his lower back, sending a ripple of pleasure straight to his groin.   
  
He moaned in response, Aya's hand's tightening against his scalp as the vibrations traveled up his erection. Youji guessed he liked that when he repeated the caress, causing Youji to shiver and focus on what he was doing so he didn't hurt him, starting to hum intermittently as he sucked gently, his own arousal climbing higher as Aya stroked one foot over his back and worked the other between them and pressed it against Youji's throbbing erection.   
  
The sudden press against his straining cock surprised him. Youji knew Aya was flexible, but fuck. He began to lose his concentration as Aya's foot rubbed against him in counter rhythm to the motions Youji was making with his mouth. The blonde loosed his hold on one of Aya's hips, allowing the redhead a little more freedom of movement, and trailing his fingers over pale thighs to cup his balls, running the tip of a finger over one, then the other, feeling Aya begin to squirm and thrust a little more in earnest.   
  
Youji relaxed his throat farther, wrapping his tongue around Aya's cock, increasing the pressure he applied. He felt Aya's balls draw up against his hand, felt him stiffen under the hand still on his hip an instant before he came silently, hot and bitter across Youji's tongue. He swallowed what he could, reveling in the taste for a minute; as much as he disliked it, he let the taste of this time combine with the alcohol and fuzzy memories to create something new to replace the images of the night before.   
  
Youji pulled back, letting Aya's softening length slip from his mouth as he settled back on his haunches. He gasped, Aya's foot, forgotten for a moment, pressing against him, toes sliding against the underside of his erection, a nail lightly scraping.   
  
Batting Aya's foot aside, Youji looked down at the redhead, pale skin practically glowing with a sheen of sweat, naked chest rising with each breath, still quickened from the rush of release. Damn, but Aya was gorgeous, he thought as he wrapped a hand around his cock, allowing himself one long, satisfying stroke from root to tip, thumb pushing back foreskin, swirling fluid over the sensitive tip.   
  
"Wait."   
  
Youji stopped suddenly, unaccustomed to words that weren't his in Aya's bed. Purple eyes gazed up at him from under crimson bangs. One of Aya's hands slid up the bed, rasping against the sheets as he reached under the pillow. He produced a tube, half depleted, squeezed from the middle, a little battered. Aya offered it to Youji and the blonde took it hesitantly, searching for the understanding and finding it with the want glowing in the violet eyes.   
  
Aya looked away, perhaps embarrassed by the need that had so clearly been written on his face. He rolled onto his side putting his back to the blonde, still kneeling in the middle of the bed.   
  
He had often wondered what Aya got out of these little encounters, in the morning, when he was sober enough to care about the other man's obviously fragile feelings under that veneer of ice. But he had never found an answer. Aya and his motivations were still as confusing as they were the day he had first laid eyes on the redhead.   
  
Stretching out next to Aya, but not pressing up against him, Youji ghosted a hand down pale ribs. "Don't worry about me, baby," he whispered. "If you don't want to ..."   
  
"I've never worried about you before, why should I start now?" Aya's voice was quiet, but cutting just the same.   
  
"Mmmm, keep talking, baby." Youji pressed his lips to Aya's spine, moving up slowly, savoring the clean taste of his skin. Aya's breath hitched almost imperceptibly when he reached the juncture between his neck and shoulder.   
  
"Shut up," Aya growled, but turned his head to give Youji access to his neck just the same.   
  
Youji obliged both requests, focusing his attention on the pale column of flesh, feeling the strong steady heartbeat under his lips, the soft catch in Aya's breath when he scraped teeth gently over a familiar spot, followed by a swipe of his tongue to soothe the sting. His hands continued to ghost over Aya's skin as he patiently brought a mark to the surface of Aya's neck. It was rare that the redhead let himself be marked, but Youji plunged ahead, hands brushing over Aya's returning erection.   
  
Satisfied with the bruise he raised, Youji trailed his lips up the curve of Aya's jaw.   
  
"I want to fuck you," Youji breathed into Aya's ear, nuzzling at the long tail of hair hanging in his path.   
  
"So do it already." Aya's reply was breathy, his hips arching into Youji's searching hand.   
  
Searching with one hand, using the other to tease Aya into full hardness, Youji located to the lube among the bed sheets, easily getting the cap off with one hand. He rose to his knees again, straddling Aya as the smaller man rolled onto his back as he squeezed lube into the palm of his hand, spreading it over his fingers.   
  
Youji pressed a slicked finger into Aya slowly, easing past the tight ring of muscle. He moved the finger around, pressing deeper, loosening and stretching. Youji added a second finger, scissoring until he thought Aya was stretched enough to take him. Youji was painfully hard, and when he slicked himself with lube he was tempted to continue to stroke, but Aya's legs came up to hook over Youji's shoulders.   
  
Youji shifted to line himself up and pressed forward, entering Aya with a smooth motion. He paused, head tossed back in bliss. This was where he belonged, in this moment, with this man. "Fuck, Aya," he breathed, withdrawing almost completely, then slamming back in. He shifted once again, positioning so each stroke raked across Aya's prostate.   
  
Youji felt ready to explode, painfully aroused for too long, the tight heat of Aya's body around him driving him faster, Aya's hands on his hips pulling him closer, urging him faster, deeper. Youji needed little encouragement.   
  
His thrusts soon reached a fevered pace, Youji's body leaning forward, pressing his lips to Aya's, trapping the redhead's erection between their bodies as he moved, Youji feeling the precum leave a trail on his chest.   
  
He pulled back and leered at Aya even as he continued to pound him into the mattress, the redhead's eyes closed, hips arching up to meet each thrust. Aya needed to be fucked as much as Youji wanted to fuck him, the blonde realized through a haze of lust.   
  
"Open your eyes, lover," Youji gasped, feeling himself tighten, heat coiling low and deep within.   
  
"Don't call me that," Aya growled but opened his eyes.   
  
Youji lost himself at that moment, coming deep inside Aya as he stared into violet eyes gone darker with passion. He continued to thrust, feeling Aya climax again, warm stickiness spreading across his chest.   
  
Youji fell forward, unable to hold himself up any longer. He lay atop Aya for a minute, eyes closed, breathing harshly the clean scent of the man beneath him.   
  
It took just a moment for Aya to push him aside with a growl. Youji was used to it. Sex was fine, but nothing more. No post coital cuddling, no words other than "get out". As he tumbled over the side of the bed, Aya's shove more forceful than he had anticipated, he wondered once again what Aya got out of these nights spent together. Aya never sought Youji out, but Youji knew that the younger man would most likely be awake when he decided to stagger home at night, demons sufficiently drowned for him to sleep.   
  
Youji glanced back at the redhead as he scooped his shirt and boots. Aya was still lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, ignoring Youji as the blonde gathered his things like a whore.   
  
He stopped suddenly, the thought burning through his mind. Is that how Aya saw him, like Ken did, the resident whore? What remained of the alcohol induced buzz he'd come home with evaporated at that moment, along with the pleasant haze of euphoria from one of the best orgasms he'd had in a while. His despair of the previous night came crashing back down on him in a wave that was almost physically painful. He sucked in a breath as he tore his eyes away from the oblivious man on the bed, the sound of it feeling like a sonic boom in the silence of the room.   
  
He finished gathering his things and he left, not daring to look back in Aya's direction. It hurt too much to be used and discarded, and he doubted that Aya felt more used than he did at the moment. Youji fled to his room, trying to outrun the emotions he didn't want to acknowledge, didn't want to think about. If Aya didn't care than why should he?   
  
Youji dumped his things on the floor of his room, retrieved a full pack of cigarettes from the dresser and grabbed a shirt off the chair near the closet, shrugging into it as he mounted the stairs to the roof.   
  
_"I've never worried about you before, why should I start now?"_ Aya's words floated back at him as he stepped into the chill autumn night, drawing in a deep breath of city air. He shook loose a cigarette, sticking it between his lips and lighting it, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he paced, the tar roof cold under his bare feet if he didn't keep moving.   
  
It was true; Aya had never worried about him. It wasn't like theirs was a normal relationship of give and take; it was just sex. No emotional attachment, just a way to burn off energy, to find release.   
  
With practiced ease Youji puffed away at his cigarette without using his hands, holding the tube at the corner of his mouth, lips damp enough to stick to the paper. Why the hell had he started this whole mess in the first place? He'd been drunk, he'd been horny, but there had been more to it. He'd been lonely.   
  
Since taking down Riot and watching yet another girl die at their hands, Youji had stopped finding dates. He was contaminated. Like the legendary Typhoid Mary of turn of the century America that his mother told him tales of, Youji spread death to the women of Tokyo, all the while being spared of it himself. The men he'd picked up after that had been good, a distraction, but it wasn't enough. The one-night stands didn't work for him anymore.   
  
So he drank and came home, locked himself in his room and drank some more until he passed out. It kept him from having to think, kept him from feeling.   
  
But that night…he'd come home earlier than usual, the band at the bar not worth listening to, and Youji himself too sloshed to find a new bar to get served. Aya had still been awake, had probably been curled up on the couch reading until Youji had stumbled through the back door. And there had been the answer he'd been seeking.   
  
Aya. They lived together, they killed together. Aya was maybe the one person he could not spread death to, because Aya also carried that disease. And Aya was a gorgeous man, at times seeming to have been carved from marble, and not just in his outward appearance. And Youji had been just drunk enough to act on his thoughts. Maybe he could melt some of that icy façade, reach the passionate man he knew had to reside underneath. He'd seen that passion, usually applied to taking out targets, specifically cutting down Takatori, but he'd seen it.   
  
And he wanted to see it again, applied to something more life affirming.   
  
Aya hadn't resisted too much, the beating Youji half expected never landing. And after, Aya had kicked him out. They repeated the scenario over months, but the closeness Youji hadn't dared to hope for never happened. Their relationship never extended past sex. Aya didn't seem to care about him past a working relationship.   
  
Yet there were hints. Youji, as dazed and shocked as he had been, had seen the glow of anger in Aya's eyes when he realized what had happened in that room in the bar. And he'd woken up the next morning draped with a blanket in the chair in Aya's room, the redhead still fast asleep in his own nest of covers.   
  
It all could have been explained away, Youji thought as he lit a fresh cigarette with the end of the one he'd just about finished, flicking the butt over the edge of the roof. The mission hadn't gone as planned and that was bound to have pissed Aya off. As for falling asleep in the chair…that wasn't so easily ignored.   
  
But still nothing melted that icy exterior Aya projected, though Youji had tried. He longed to see what was underneath, to understand the redhead. Omi he could talk to, Ken he could take out for a drink. But Aya, even though they shared something intimate, wouldn't open up to him, wouldn't let himself be known.   
  
And Youji was still as alone as he had been that night he'd asked Aya to go upstairs with him. 


	7. Seven

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Seven   
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The staircase in his parents' house was long. When Ran and Aya had been much younger, they had played on the stairs, running up and down the spiraling length gleefully, full of dragons and princesses and samurai. They both had been heroes, of course. Aya wasn't one to sit idly by, much to their mother's dismay. Their parents were very traditional, despite the westernized house they lived in. That was a concession to the progressive management at the bank his father worked for, and it grated on his mother's conservative sensibilities every day. _She_ had wanted Aya to grow up and be a proper Japanese girl.   
  
Now, though, Aya wouldn't grow up at all, he supposed. It had been too long.   
  
He plodded up the stairs, keeping his eyes on his feet. Never mind that these stairs didn't exist any more. The house had practically disintegrated in the explosion and resulting fire. There was another house there now, another happy family, not that he had looked. This was just as real as everything else in his life.   
  
The stairs stretched up endlessly, curving in on themselves, a hushed carpeted monstrosity. He kept going. There might be an end to this, someday. Or maybe not.   
  
The house had always felt too big. Too many rooms, too many windows, doors, chairs, nooks and crannies and places to hide. Too many shadows secretly stalking him. Even as a child, he had felt his small family was out of place in this house.   
  
There was something following him. He knew it was there, even though he couldn't see it. It pried into his mind, sinuous and cold and black, black, black as night, as sin. Empty, devoid of anything save the intent to destroy. It was a mindless killer. It _enjoyed_ the hunt, the chase, the thrill of the catch, the spray of blood on its face.   
  
Moving faster, he tried skipping stairs, taking them by twos and threes, but it was always there, right behind him, panting down his neck and sending its icy tendrils of fear down his spine. If only he could get to the top, get to his room, then it wouldn't be able to follow him. He would be safe.   
  
He stumbled in his haste, catching himself with one hand and almost crawling, taking great sobbing breaths. It told him to stop, and to his dismay, his body responded, turning to face it. And then he realized, it was his own shadow. He would never be rid of it, never be able to run away, for it was a part of him. His shadow reached out a ghostly hand for his face, and he couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, and –   
  
Ran came awake with a gasp, throwing himself into a sitting position and flinging the heavy blankets away.   
  
"Hey, relax. It's jus' me."   
  
Youji's voice floated out through the darkness of Ran's room. The black seemed almost a solid wall. He suddenly remembered he had closed the curtains. Usually there was light from the street. There was a thump and a muffled yelp from the foot of the bed.   
  
"Shit." Youji's voice was closer now. "Well, I found th' bed."   
  
A weight settled on the far end of Ran's bed, bouncing slightly. He pulled his feet away, drawing his knees up and leaning back against the headboard. All this time, and he still couldn't find anything to say.   
  
"Christ, Aya, d'you think it could be any darker 'n here?" The sound of zippers and two heavy clunks was Youji's boots hitting the floor. The lighter slap was his leather jacket following closely behind. Then the man was crawling up the bed toward Ran, smelling more of liquor than usual.   
  
"How much did you drink?" Ran demanded, for once uneasy with the situation. He knew, in his gut, that he had never seen Youji so drunk.   
  
Youji flopped face down next to him, one arm worming over to drape itself across Ran's stomach. His skin was a cold contrast to Ran's, warmed by sleep. "Not 'nough to matter," Youji mumbled into the pillow. "Not enough ta make me forget."   
  
The mission. The mission last night had ... Ran had managed to spare his teammates the worst of it, but they had seen enough. They had all stayed up with Omi writing the report. None of them had wanted to be alone. Subsequently, the shop had been closed, and Youji had gone out earlier than usual, despite Omi's reproachful looks.   
  
"Help me forget, baby," Youji slurred. "You always help me forget."   
  
Ran felt a ball of ice cold dread lodge itself in his stomach. This was too much. He had _responsibilities_. To his sister, and only his sister. Any responsibility he felt toward Weiss began and ended with missions. He slipped out from underneath Youji's arm to stand at the side of the bed, staring down at the shadowy form of the other man and trying to disguise his inexplicable terror at those words.   
  
"No," he said, "Get out."   
  
"The fuck?" Youji rolled to his side, eyes blinking as he tried to focus on Ran above him. "What the hell did you just say?"   
  
Picking up Youji's boots and jacket, Ran opened his door and tossed them into the hallway. Light spilled over the threshold, tumbling over itself in rushing golden waves. "You rely on me too much," he said coldly. "I won't always be there for you."   
  
Youji's face twisted, and he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "I rely too fucking much on you? You're the one that lets me fuck you, you asshole. What does that say about you?"   
  
Ran felt the anger rise up from that place that seethed just under the surface. It was a constant battle everyday to keep it from boiling over. "A momentary lapse in judgement," he ground out, gripping the doorknob so hard he knew his hand would bruise. "It won't happen again, I assure you."   
  
"You fucking prick," Youji spat. "You let me come in here and fuck you, over and over again, practically begging for it with your eyes and you tell _me_ that I rely on you too much? Screw you, Fujimiya Aya, and the fucking high horse you rode in on. Now I see just how deep that ice runs - must be in your fucking veins." Youji wobbled as he pushed himself up off the bed. "Go to hell," he snarled in Ran's face as he stormed out, the fury behind it lost slightly as he stumbled.   
  
Pressing his lips together in a tight, thin line, Ran clenched his fists, fighting to keep his temper under control. As soon as Youji had passed through the doorway, Ran slammed the door, feeling no satisfaction from the resounding crash. Damn Youji. Damn Youji anyway for seeing too much, for making him feel, for wanting too damn much.   
  
This thing with Youji had been a mistake from the beginning and he had fucking known it, but he was so _weak_. He had practically leapt into the older man's arms like some addle-brained, weak-willed little twit, with no thought to the consequences; certainly with no thought at all. It had gone against everything he had worked for, everything he had wanted to believe of himself. And Youji had seen through his act without practically any effort at all.   
  
He refused to be an emotional crutch for anyone. He didn't need anyone, and no one needed him, and he liked it that way, god dammit. There was only Aya-chan, and when she woke up she could reclaim her rightful place in the world and he could finally be free. Free of all his responsibilities, his obligations, his ties to this shit hole of a city.   
  
So why did it feel like he had locked the door to this cell himself? 


	8. Eight

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Eight   
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Ken stood by the door, impatiently hopping from one foot to the other. "Youji," he whined. "I'm already five minutes late!"   
  
"Don't worry, Kenken," Youji drawled. "I'm sure the poor girl has already given up on you."   
  
"There's no girl!" Ken burst out.   
  
"Boy then," Youji said, nonchalantly, turning back to the order forms. They raised a lot of their own flowers, but they still had to purchase some supplies from wholesalers.   
  
"Youji!"   
  
"What?" Youji asked, looking up and innocently batting his eyelashes.   
  
"Augh," Ken threw his hands up in defeat. "Look, just go tell Fujimiya to get his ass down here so I can go."   
  
"You go get him, KenKen. You're the one that wants to leave." Youji fixed Ken with a look. Truth be told, Youji hadn't spoken to Aya in the days since the redhead had turned him out with some half assed story about dependency. Fuzzy though the memories were, attained through an alcohol induced haze, he was still pissed at Aya for that, and was staying well clear of the younger man until he was sure he wouldn't try to strangle him.   
  
It wasn't just that he was angry for being thrown out, pissed off about being denied, but using those feelings to avoid letting utter shame overwhelm him. Youji still felt used, dirty after their last encounter. Aya had all but begged Youji to fuck him, he had seen the need, the want shining in those violet eyes, and then ignored Youji as he crawled away.   
  
The blonde was trying not to let that hurt, trying not to dwell on it every time he passed Aya in the hall, or shared a shift with him. Apparently Aya hadn't heard or understood the words Youji had confessed that night, seeming an eternity ago. Or maybe he just didn't care. Maybe all Youji was to him was a casual fuck in the time of need.   
  
Aya's whore, who took his payment in guilt and shame, and the hope of some other expression in veiled purple eyes.   
  
"Youji," Ken whined again, breaking into Youji's thoughts. "If you go up, I can leave as soon as Omi gets here. Yotan," Ken turned pleading when Youji made no attempt to budge off the chair he'd parked himself in.   
  
"Alright, alright," Youji grumbled, standing and pulling off his apron. "Make sure you give your boyfriend a big sloppy one for me," Youji ducked out before Ken could manage more than a splutter in reply.   
  
Youji gathered his courage as he mounted the stairs to their rooms. He had noticed Aya hadn't come downstairs earlier and it was unlike the redhead to be late for a shift. But it was exactly like him to be an asshole, and only an asshole would leave Ken hanging when everyone in the house knew that he had practice with those brats of his. Youji built up anger to replace the slight concern. Aya apparently didn't give a fuck about him or the rest of the team, so why should Youji expend the energy to be worried if the bastard didn't show up?   
  
"Oi, Aya," Youji pounded on the door. "You're late. Ken's got practice." Youji waited for a beat, but no noise could be heard through the door. "Fuck," he muttered. "Look, Aya, I know you're pissed at me, but at least go cover Ken's shift. The chibi has some big project due in the next couple days so he can't cover and the girls are going to be here soon."   
  
There was still no response from behind the door. "For fuck's sake," Youji muttered and went to open the door. He was surprised to find it unlocked. "Aya," he said as he stepped through and stopped in his tracks.   
  
The room was empty. Not the sparse collection of belongings that Aya had possessed, but stripped down, no sign that anyone had ever inhabited the space. Only the furniture remained, because it belonged to Kritiker or because the asshole couldn't fit in the Porsche, Youji didn't know and didn't care.   
  
Aya was gone.   
  
"The fucking asshole," Youji spat as he turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him. He had been pissed at Aya before, but now he was well and truly furious. The fucktard had just up and left, without a word of goodbye or explanation to his comrades of over a year.   
  
"The goddammed prick," he swore again. He could care less if Aya decided he wanted to go, but it was going to upset Omi.   
  
He threw open the door to the store, the resulting slam against the wall making Omi turn with a jump from the register where he was handing a customer change. "Youji-kun? Where's Aya-kun?"   
  
"Gone," Youji snapped, as he retrieved his apron from the chair where he'd left it.   
  
"Gone?" Omi echoed, his impossibly large blue eyes growing larger.   
  
"Yeah, chibi," Youji softened his tone at Omi's pathetic look. "He's gone."   
  
"But," Omi stammered. "He didn't even say goodbye."   
  
Youji cursed Aya. How could he be so cold hearted to walk out on a kid whose family had abandoned and betrayed him? He should have at least told Omi he was leaving and spared the chibi some heartbreak. "I know," Youji said, crossing the few feet that separated them and pulled Omi into a brief hug. "It'll be okay, Omi. We got along just fine without him before."   
  
"I know, Youji-kun." Omi turned back to the counter, swiping at his eyes.   
  
Youji knew his words held little comfort for the teen. They held little comfort for himself, and he was trying not to care that the shithead was gone. He placed his hand on Omi's shoulder. "Can you stay and help, Omittchi? I know you have a project due, but Ken's already gone, and -" as much as Youji didn't want to admit it, having to be left alone in the shop with a swarm of girls was only going to make him feel even more abandoned than he wanted to think about. Damn you, Fujimiya Aya, Youji cursed.   
  
"Hai, Youji-kun. I can pull an all nighter if I have to," Omi said, unable to keep the weary sadness out of his voice.   
  
That made Youji want to hunt down the redheaded prick and beat the crap out of him. "Don't do that, chibi. Just help me get through the after school rush, and then I'll be okay." The school girls had a limited amount of time to stand around and ogle the four young men that tended the store. Most of them had after school activities to get to. Youji wasn't sure how Omi managed to avoid them; maybe the fact that he was an orphan supporting himself gave him some leeway with school authorities.   
  
"Hai, Youji-kun," Omi echoed.   
  
Youji seethed inside as the first of the uniformed girls began to loiter on the sidewalk outside the Koneko no Sumu Ie. Ken was going to be furious, not so much at Aya for leaving, but for the residual sadness that now lingered in Omi's eyes despite the cheerful front he was assembling for their fan club. Youji had a feeling there would be at least one new hole in a wall somewhere in the residence by night's end.   
  
Youji was angry. At Aya for running out on Omi, on the team, on *him*. And he was angry at himself for not seeing it coming. For likely being the reason the fucker had taken off in the first place.   
  
All but the deepest running threads of anger were replaced with a pleasant face as the first of the girls swarmed the shop, not really looking at the flowers but rather stage whispering amongst themselves about the boys hard at work. With clenched teeth and a grin that he didn't think would've fooled a corpse, he waved off questions of Aya's absence.   
  
It didn't escape his notice that Omi stayed on after the rush slowed, finding small things around the shop to keep busy. If Youji had to guess, he'd think the kid didn't want to be left alone. Youji knew how he felt. 


	9. Nine

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Nine   
  
------   
  
Sighing, Ran closed his eyes and leaned back against the front door of his new apartment. It still looked uninhabited, even after he had dumped his duffel bags on the floor and wrestled the futon into the bedroom. The problem was not, he decided, that he didn't have any possessions, but that there was so much more space than the small bedroom he had occupied above the Koneko.   
  
He walked through the admittedly tiny apartment, fingers trailing over the walls, as if to reassure himself that it was still real, that it was still his. Space was at a premium in Japan, and especially in Tokyo. This place was a luxury for someone living on his own.   
  
A thrill ran through him at that phrase. On his own. He was alone. For the first time in ... since before Sendai, he was well and truly on his own. No one to knock on his door and bother him at all hours of the night, no one to answer to, no flower shop to tend. Now he could focus all his strength on Aya-chan.   
  
Of course, Kritiker still held his leash. His conversation with Manx echoed in his mind.   
  
_"You want to leave Weiss?" Manx sounded incredulous, as if she couldn't even conceive of the notion.   
  
"Yes." He sat in front of her desk calmly, carefully concealing his desperation. He needed out. He needed to get away from –   
  
Manx raised her pencil thin eyebrows. "Why?" she asked shrewdly.   
  
This was the point where he had to tread most lightly. Weiss was the most effective team that Kritiker currently had running. To break it up would be no easy task, and he had better have a damn good reason. He allowed himself a cold little smile. "My purpose is complete. There is no need for me to be on the team any longer."   
  
"Oh?" Manx had a peculiar smile of her own. "What makes you think I'll let you just leave?"   
  
He leaned forward. "I do not wish to be free of Kritiker," he said softly. "I do not wish to work with others, that is all."   
  
"Hmmm." Manx tapped her pen fiercely on her desk. "Weiss is needed. They are not as strong without you, Fujimiya."   
  
"I am aware of that." He folded his fingers together, striving for control. "However, I will not stay with Weiss."   
  
The pen stopped abruptly in mid-air. Yes, Manx knew what he meant. She had caught the hidden meaning: or else. "Your sister," she began delicately, deadly.   
  
Ran could barely suppress the growl as it rose up out of his chest. "Do not think that I am without resources, Manx," he spat. He had contacts and accounts that Kritiker was completely unaware of. He could spirit Aya-chan away, but then he would live in fear of discovery for the rest of his life. He was already dead. What else could he do but work for the hand that fed him?   
  
Her eyes calculated his worth and seemed to find it adequate. "Very well. You are more useful to me willing than not." She pinned him with a cold stare. "But only on a probationary basis. I reserve the right to put you back on the team."   
  
He nodded. He had expected as much. "I won't disappoint you," he said, rising.   
  
Manx smiled that strange smile again. "We'll see," she said._   
  
Ran still felt a little giddy that she had let him have his way. He hadn't been sure that his logic would be enough for her, and he didn't even want to admit his other reasons for leaving. No, he had no reason to be in Weiss any more. Takatori was dead; he had killed him with his own hand. His revenge was complete, and now he just needed to bide his time and wait for Aya-chan to wake up and take her rightful place in the world.   
  
Halfheartedly, he opened the lone cardboard box in the middle of the living room and began pulling things out. All of his clothes had fit into the two large duffel bags on the floor of the tiny closet in the bedroom. His mission gear, including his katana, was still in the trunk of the Porsche. He would get it later, when there were less people to see.   
  
The contents of the box were soon spread out before him. A set of sheets and two towels, an account ledger for Aya-chan's investments, hangers for his clothes, three pictures in frames, and books. Piles of books. The box had been quite heavy.   
  
He tossed the towels and sheets in the general direction of the bedroom. What to do with the rest? He didn't have a desk, or a bookshelf, or a table ... just a box. Setting aside the book he had started a few days ago, he started stacking the rest of the piles in the box again. The ledger went on the very top, for easy access.   
  
That just left the pictures. He turned them over, one by one. Aya-chan, smiling up at him, in her last school picture before the accident. In a way, she looked just as frozen now. His parents in traditional kimonos, his father with just a trace of a smile around his mouth. And –   
  
The third picture went face down inside the box.   
  
He closed it up and shoved it flush against the wall with his feet, setting his family photos on top. There. Now he was at least halfway unpacked.   
  
With another sigh, he lay down on the floor, letting his arms flop bonelessly outward. The ceiling was white. The walls were white, and he had nothing to do tomorrow except visit Aya-chan. Manx had wanted a week to make arrangements for him. He was in limbo until then.   
  
Well, no sense in going soft while he waited. He drew his knees up and started to do situps. It wasn't the gym at the Koneko, but he had lots of space to exercise in.   
  
_One, two._   
  
Ran supposed he should at least buy a low table and some cushions to sit on, but really, he didn't need them. This was not a home. The only home he had ever known was long gone. It was a place to sleep, just like his room at the flower shop had been. A place to exist until Aya-chan came back to him and took the place he was holding for her in the world.   
  
_Seven._   
  
He felt a small pang of guilt at the thought of Omi discovering he was gone. Surely it would be Omi who saw his empty room first. The youngest member of Weiss was the only one that still persisted in making overtures of friendship, making sure to include him in group activities and that he ate regularly. He smiled a little at that thought. When he had accepted Omi as a member of his team, and not a Takatori, the look in his eyes had been strangely gratifying.   
  
_Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen._   
  
The look in Youji's eyes the morning after he had kicked him out was something else, though. Something else he didn't really want to think about.   
  
_Twenty-five._   
  
No matter now. He had left Weiss for good, and no matter what Manx said, he wasn't going back. He didn't want any of them in his life, not Omi with his cheerful sunny smiles, not Ken with his somehow endearing temper, and definitely not Youji, with his sultry eyes and the smell of his hair, and the feel of his body in the dark.   
  
_Thirty-seven._   
  
They certainly didn't need him. No, they would be better off without him.   
  
_Forty-four, Forty-five._   
  
He hadn't wanted Youji to expect anything of him. He had just wanted to take that comfort he had denied himself for so long. He didn't need all the complications and accouterments of a relationship. It just made things more ... difficult. It meant he had to talk about things he didn't want anyone to know, about things he couldn't even put into words.   
  
Wanting Youji was weak.   
  
_Sixty-three._   
  
Wanting Youji was weak because it distracted him and he lost his focus. The most important thing, the only important thing in his life was his sister. Everything else didn't matter at all. It was the sound of Youji's voice, the feel of his skin that had swayed his resolve. He had just wanted –   
  
No.   
  
_Seventy, seventy-one, seventy-two._   
  
He refused to walk down that path. All he wanted from this world was for Aya-chan to wake up and come alive again. Now his thoughts would only be of her.   
  
It hadn't always been this way. In the past, in their childhood, he had other dreams, other hopes. He had wanted things, desired people. _Please, Aya, wake up and live your life._ Then his purpose would be truly be complete, his revenge truly fulfilled. Then he could finally rest. Ran was already dead, and when Aya took back her place and name –   
  
The problem with Youji ...   
  
_Ninety-eight, ninety-nine._   
  
The problem with Youji was that he made Ran want to live.   
  
He rolled over and pounded his fist on the floor in frustration. _Don't think. Especially don't think about them, about him._   
  
Giving up on his workout, as it obviously wasn't taking his mind off things, Ran got to his feet and headed to the bedroom, scooping up the pile of sheets and towels on his way. One of the towels was still a little damp from his shower that morning, so he hung it up in the bathroom after dumping the sheets on his futon.   
  
Ran made up his bed carefully, smoothing out the wrinkles in the sheets and folding his extra blanket across the bottom. He threw himself down after it was neat enough to satisfy even his mother's ghost, feeling inexplicably exhausted. His breath caught in his throat as he buried his face in his pillow.   
  
His pillow smelled like Youji. 


	10. Ten

------   
Ten   
  
------   
  
Youji stretched under the thin blankets on his bed, the angle of the sun through his bedroom window promising a late morning. The shop was closed for the day, he remembered muzzily and rolled over, burying his head between his arm and the pillow, blocking out the cloud filtered rays of sickening brightness.   
  
He slipped back into a light doze, mind drifting as his body started to wake. Fuzzy images of the dream he'd been having floated back to him. The dreams had been the same for the past few nights. Nightmares had woken him more than once, and fantasies found him awake in the morning with a rock hard erection that was not just a typical example of morning wood.   
  
Since Aya had left, Youji had found his sleep haunted by the redhead.   
  
Half awake, Youji grasped at the remains of the dream that had been shattered by the screech of tires and the sound of breaking glass outside his window on the busy street adjacent to the koneko. The images did not return, leaving the blonde with only a vague impression of what had played through his mind.   
  
He knew it had involved Aya, like most of his dreams over the past nights. And judging by the hardness he was pressing into the mattress, it had been a rather pleasant experience. _No sense in wasting it_ he thought as he rolled over, kicking the covers aside as he turned.   
  
Youji skimmed his hands over his chest, banishing all thoughts from his mind, focusing only on giving himself pleasure. Nothing existed beyond himself and his bed, the world outside fading away as he slowly increased his own arousal. His fingers danced over his chest, tracing the lines of his ribs, perhaps too visible under his skin, the faint line of a scar from a knife, a more obvious scar where he'd caught the edge of a katana when he'd been a bit careless and it's wielder too deep in righteous murderous rage.   
  
Down to his belly button, body growing tense and damp, Youji skimmed his palms down his thighs, then brought one back to up to his chest as the other gently fisted around his erection, moaning as he gave in to one firm, satisfying stroke, before leaving off. He wanted to enjoy it.   
  
Youji drew his feet up, planting them on the mattress, knees bent, allowing his hips to arch against the teasing strokes of his hand. He'd used that same touch on Aya, light, fleeting passes that never failed to set the swordsman squirming. With his free hand he groped under his head for the lube he knew was lurking there. His busy hand drifted down to caress his balls when he produced the fat tube, a soft groan escaping his lips as he fondled himself.   
  
With the pad of his thumb, Youji flipped the cap on the tube, squeezing from the top of the tube until a line appeared on his finger while he stroked himself with his other hand. He tossed the tube aside and smeared the lube over his hand, reaching down to the silk-sheathed hardness between his legs.   
  
He left off the teasing, his slicked hand easily gliding over his erection, long firm strokes from root to tip, a nudge to push aside the foreskin, a swirl over the leaking head to spread the clear fluid, another stroke. Slowly Youji increased his pace, his hips arching up to meet his hand on every downward stroke.   
  
Youji came with a grunt, ribbons of white splattering his chest and hand. Limply, he flopped back against the soft mattress, hands falling to his sides while he regained his breath. It only took a moment, wide green eyes staring up at the ceiling, too sated even to reach for the cigarettes on the table next to the bed.   
  
It was good, the release. Almost every morning for the past several he'd woken himself up that way, but it didn't seem to help, only brought reality crashing down around him again. Aya was gone. Youji had no one but himself to blame, and the indulgence in a little morning wank was just a poignant reminder of what he was missing. What he had driven away.   
  
And yet he did it anyway. Maybe it was torture, maybe it was a reminder. His tattoo read "When You Gonna Learn?" Apparently, he still hadn't.   
  
With a sigh, Youji pulled himself up to sitting, running his clean hand through his hair and over his face. He frowned at the drying mess on his torso, reaching for a cigarette and his lighter. He lit it up and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke up toward the ceiling. He smoked without thinking until the cigarette was burned down, mesmerized by the ladder of smoke curling up to the ceiling.   
  
Nicotine fix satisfied, Youji headed for the shower. The rest of the house was quiet. It was late in the morning, Omi already packed off for school, Ken out and about somewhere. They had agreed to close the shop for the day, making something of a three day weekend.   
  
Manx had come by at closing, just like she always did, the day Aya had left. Ken had just gotten home from practice and Youji hadn't had the chance to tell him what had happened before Manx gave them the details.   
  
Aya had been reassigned. Youji wondered if Aya'd requested it, but didn't ask and Manx didn't say. While Kritiker decided what to do with them the three remaining assassins were on something of a break. No missions, no reports, no shifts in the shop if they could work it out amongst themselves. Persia's secretary had given them the go ahead to take an actual vacation.   
  
Part of Youji wondered what the break was all about. Were they going to find a replacement for Aya? Sure, Ken, Omi and he had worked as a good team before, but Aya had made them better, had given them the leadership that they'd needed to become an actual _team_. And it was true that they had managed the shop before, without Aya, but adding the redhead to the mix, someone with an eye for flowers and design, as well as business and accounting, had made the small cover business flourish, and Youji was working twice as hard as he'd ever had to before, since they'd become so popular.   
  
He stood under the hot spray, letting the heat melt away some of the tension in his shoulders. He had been working hard, working double shifts, and for once not minding. Keeping busy kept him from thinking. Keeping busy kept him too tired to go out and drink at night. So he drank alone in his room, sitting at the window, blowing smoke outside, drowning his memories, fears, and anger in whatever he could pick up at the market down the street on his "lunch break".   
  
Flipping the taps off with one hand, Youji reached for his towel, scrubbing it over his hair before wrapping it around his waist. He stepped out of the shower, puddling the floor where he dripped, crossing to the mirror over the sink. With a damp palm, Youji wiped some of the fog off the mirror, staring at his reflection.   
  
He growled at the tired man looking back at him before sticking his toothbrush in his mouth and avoiding his gaze in the polished silver. He scrubbed away the fuzz of the previous night's binge; it worried him that he couldn't quite remember what he had drank. But at least it had been at home, with no danger of hurting anyone when he tried to drive home.   
  
Youji left the door to the bathroom open to vent as he padded back down the hall to his room. He had plans for his day off. He needed to blow off some steam. His plans included shopping, wandering, and just being out of the house for the day. He pulled on a pair of tight fitting, low slung jeans, the only type he owned except for one pair at the back of his closet. A black turtleneck in deference to the chill autumn air and his boots finished off the ensemble.   
  
Cigarettes, lighter, and keys found his way into his pockets. A wad of cash joined them. Youji didn't like to carry a wallet; they were too bulky and cumbersome for his tastes. Since he was walking, he left his I.D. where he'd discarded it the night before. No sense in carrying around more than he had to. He pulled a light jacket from his closet, draping it over his arm as he pulled his bedroom door shut behind him.   
  
Passing up the kitchen in favor of grabbing something out, Youji headed out the back door, ever present sunglasses slid on to block the sun. Taking a deep breath of the crisp fall air, Youji set out on his day of wandering.   
  
The koneko was part of the local business district, set toward the middle of the shops. Youji picked a direction and leisurely strolled, ducking into whatever shops looked interesting, some actually on his mental list of places to go.   
  
Several productive hours later, bags dangling from his wrist, Youji fished in his pocket for his cigarettes, lighting one up before zipping his light jacket and resuming his idle roaming. He let his mind wander as he walked, not thinking of anything in particular, and trying not to think of someone in particular. Eyes hidden behind sunglasses flickered from side to side, the paranoid assassin within him keeping track of his surroundings at all times.   
  
He paused at a street corner, waiting for the light to turn in his favor. Youji glanced around the people out on the streets, scanning out of habit. His heart skipped a beat when he passed over a shock of red hair, a familiar orange sweater.   
  
Aya.   
  
He hadn't expected to see Aya in Tokyo. Youji had expected the prick to have left the city, maybe even the country.   
  
The redhead was going in a direction perpendicular to Youji's own, headed out of the shopping district. On impulse, Youji stepped into the street and followed, not really knowing why. Aya was easy enough to tail, standing out the way he did. Strangely enough, he didn't appear to be worried about being tailed, either, as Youji, though he was prepared to, never had to duck into a shop or alley to not be seen.   
  
Youji was still angry with Aya, still internally seething that he could get up and walk away without a word to his teammates. He wanted to know why Aya had left, wanted to shake him, demand a reason why he had walked out on them, on him.   
  
He followed Aya to the Magic Bus hospital. It was Kritiker's hospital, more or less. Weiss knew they could go there for medical attention, none of the normal questions asked, which was good, when you considered most of their injuries. But why was Aya going to the hospital? Had he been holding out on them? Not telling the team about something, some health problem that could have put all of their lives in danger?   
  
Youji felt himself grow angry again. If the prick had endangered Ken and Omi by not disclosing information –   
  
At the same instant, a trill of fear ran down his spine. What if something _was_ wrong with Aya? Why hadn't he told them?   
  
Youji pulled away from that line of thinking, bolstering up the anger to override the fear. Aya didn't care about him or the rest of the team; he'd proven that when he'd walked out without a word. Why should Youji waste his energy wondering what the prick was trying to hide?   
  
As he loitered in the waiting area, Youji noticed that Aya breezed past the security and nurses station. Was he that familiar to them that they didn't even look up at the unusual coloring? Youji himself waited a moment, until a concerned visitor approached the nurses station and started asking questions. With the single nurse on duty, Youji just pretended to know where he was going and wasn't stopped. He followed Aya up two flights of stairs, lingering at the top before stepping into the hall while Aya ducked into a room.   
  
Youji ventured out, crossing the hallway in a few long strides. The name plate on the door read Fujimiya Aya.   
  
"The bastard," Youji muttered under his breath. The fuck. The nerve. Youji peeked around the edge of the large window set in the door.   
  
And stared.   
  
A young girl was stretched out on a bed, blue-black hair laying in braids over her shoulders, the ends rising and falling with each breath. The familiar head of red hair was held in pale hands, elbows propped on the edge of the girl's bed as Aya sat in a chair.   
  
Youji spun away from the window, slouching slightly against the wall. Aya wasn't Aya? The blonde suddenly craved a cigarette, but couldn't fathom moving away from the door. Who was the girl and why did she have the same name as his sword wielding teammate? Why was Aya sitting so dejectedly at her bedside?   
  
He turned back to the window, looking just past the frame set in the door. Aya had moved, holding the girls hand in his own, rather than propping up his head. Youji could see, even from the bad angle, the faint working of Aya's jaw.   
  
Who was this girl that Aya could talk to? A girlfriend, relative – wife? Youji pulled back from the window once more, wishing even more for a smoke. How was it that Aya, who never talked to anyone if he could help it, could talk to this girl, when the people he lived with would go days at a time without hearing the sound of his voice?   
  
Why did Youji care? Why did his heart go out to the man sitting in that bleak room, why, against Youji's better judgment did he want to draw Aya into his arms and tell him that no matter what everything would be okay?   
  
Why, with every day that went by, did the anger slip farther away, leaving only an empty hole within him? 


	11. Eleven

------   
Eleven   
  
------   
  
"My apartment is still empty, Aya; you would hate it."   
  
Aya-chan lay still as usual, giving no sign she had heard Ran. He kept talking anyway, just as he always did, to stave off the loneliness in his life. Lately, it had tripled. He came to her bedside every day now. "When you wake up," he continued, "we can move into a place that has two bedrooms, and you can decorate the whole thing any way you like." He squeezed her hand, imagining her glee at being given free rein.   
  
"Except in pink," he amended. "But I doubt you would do that to me in any case." He fell silent for a long moment, struggling to remember what her favorite color had been. Yellow? Blue? It angered him that he couldn't remember. He pushed it down. "We can live together, like a family, and I can go back to just being your older brother, Aya."   
  
"I miss you." He hated himself for how his voice shook, for how his heart screamed out that _she_ wasn't the only person he was missing.   
  
Ran composed himself and continued weaving his favorite dream. "Once you finish high school, I can send you to nursing school like you wanted. I'll have enough money for that. I'll have enough money for anything you want, Aya, but you have to wake up first."   
  
"You have to wake up first," he repeated, staring down at the impassive face of his comatose sister. "Please, Aya."   
  
He stood abruptly, laying her hand carefully back in its customary place, and walked toward the window, skirting the bed. There was no view, just a small park type area and a parking structure in the back. It didn't matter, because Aya-chan wasn't looking out the window anyway. When she woke up, he would ask them to move her to a room with a better view for her rehabilitation. If there was such a thing in Tokyo.   
  
Ran kept his back to the bed, where the remains of his dreams and hopes lay peacefully slumbering, blissfully unaware of the passage of time and his own pain. He meant to keep it that way if he could. To not tell Aya-chan about his years as a dark hunter, to spare her the pain and horror at the bloodstains on her beloved onii-chan's hands.   
  
The vision of him and Aya, together as a family should be, was just a pipe dream, he knew. It was a pretty lie he told himself when he came here, to help himself believe that her resurrection would be inevitable. He would cease to exist when she woke up, simply disappear. It was the kindest thing he could do for her, considering what he had done, and what he had become. A cold hearted killer had no place in Aya-chan's life. Besides, what was left for him once she reclaimed her place? He would no longer be Aya. Ran was long dead, in spirit at least.   
  
Though he did still think of himself as Ran, for the most part.   
  
But the boy who had been Ran, the boy that Aya-chan would expect to find, was dead. It was impossible to explain to her how he had came to be Aya, Abyssinian. She would never understand his all consuming thirst for revenge, and the awful gaping emptiness that had lain beyond.   
  
It was time to go. He turned back to the bed, pressing a brief kiss to her forehead in parting. He wished with all his heart that she would be awake tomorrow, that he would see her smiling again. It was the same wish he made every time. With a last lingering glance at her sleeping face, he opened the door.   
  
The last person in the world Ran expected to see was propping up the wall next to Aya-chan's door. Youji. What the hell was he doing here? No one in Weiss knew Aya-chan even existed, let alone where she was. All the frustration, the sleepless nights, all the anger found a focus and ignited, consuming him. With a wordless growl of rage he grabbed Youji by his upper arm and dragged him down the hallway toward the elevator.   
  
"Aya," Youji ventured, pulling his arm a little.   
  
Ran silenced him with a warning squeeze on his bicep, stabbing at the call button with his free hand. After a thankfully short wait, the lift dinged and its doors opened in invitation. Ran practically threw Youji in, stalking after him with measured steps.   
  
"Aya, I –" Youji tried again.   
  
He couldn't stop himself. This invasion was too much, by the one who had already gotten so far past his walls. He could feel a sneer pull at his mouth as he reached out for Youji, pressed up against the shining metal wall of the elevator.   
  
The door dinged again and Ran whirled around, schooling his features into a blank mask. He could see Youji's reflection in the panel in front of him, wide-eyed and wary.   
  
Two doctors in white lab coats and sensible shoes stepped in, arguing quietly. The woman gave him a brief incurious glance as her companion pressed the ground floor button.   
  
An uncomfortably heavy silence descended, Ran staring stolidly ahead, Youji making himself as small and unnoticeable as he could in the corner, the doctors shifting their feet nervously. Ran could feel his anger just under the surface, crackling like lightning through his veins, making the small sensitive hairs on his arms stand up. Their companions in the elevator could sense it as well, vaguely, more like a nervous flutter of their stomachs than any real sense that anything was amiss, Ran thought. It at least kept them quiet until they reached their destination.   
  
Youji could feel it, Ran knew, attuned as they were to the nuances of each other's emotions and body language. Killing with someone created a bond that was difficult to break. Ran could feel his bond, tugging him in the direction of the Koneko, no matter how he denied it. It only made him angrier.   
  
As soon as the unwelcome doctors were out of the way, Ran took Youji's arm again, fiercely propelling him through the lobby and out the heavy glass doors. Youji went unresistingly for the most part, casting a hopeful questioning look Ran's way. He ignored it, swinging out around the door and shoving Youji hard against the wall, one hand twisting his shirt, the other still gripping his arm.   
  
"What the fuck are you doing here?" he growled.   
  
Youji raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I followed you," he answered.   
  
Ran slammed him against the wall again and the air in Youji's body left him with a whoosh. "Why?" he demanded.   
  
Shaking his head, his eyes searching Ran's face, Youji said, "I – don't know ... I saw you ..."   
  
With a snort of disgust, Ran pushed himself away from Youji. He forced himself to walk away, each step an effort.   
  
"Aya, wait." Youji reached out and grabbed Ran's wrist. "Where are you going?"   
  
"Let go of me," Ran ground out, twisting his arm in Youji's grasp.   
  
"Aya." Youji tightened his fingers, squeezing Ran's forearm painfully.   
  
Ran bared his teeth and tried to ignore the curious stares of passers-by. "Let. Go."   
  
"Not until you tell me why you left," Youji said   
  
Ran broke the hold with a swift violent jerk. He turned away, his stomach dropping at the hurt buried underneath Youji's question.   
  
Youji sighed behind him. "Look, I'm sorry I followed you, all right?" He caught hold of Ran's shirt this time, effectively stopping him in his tracks again.   
  
Clenching his teeth and consciously working to relax his hands and arms, Ran continued away from the hospital, pulling his shirt out of Youji's tenuous grasp. Why did Youji have to be so damn persistent? Why did he not only have to haunt his sleeping moments, but now his waking life, such as it was, as well?   
  
"Dammit, Aya!" Youji took him by his shoulder and turned him in an abrupt about face. "You at least owe me an explanation." His voice was exasperated.   
  
"I don't owe you anything, Kudou," Ran said coldly, steeling his resolve and looking deep into Youji's eyes. At that, Youji looked stunned, his hands dropping to his sides. Aya turned his back again and pushed down his irritation with his teammate. Former teammate. If Youji would just leave him alone ...   
  
"Wait."   
  
Ran cursed the small hitch in his stride. Youji's voice still held so much power over him. He was still so weak, so unfocused from his true goal.   
  
"Who's the girl?" Youji asked, taking encouragement in his split second hesitation.   
  
If he said anything else, Ran didn't hear it. There was a rush of blood in his ears and he turned and lashed out blindly, hitting Youji squarely on the jaw. Youji stumbled back, his face a mask of disbelief, an angry red mark already forming on the smooth skin of his cheek. Ran stepped forward, pressing his advantage, and dealt a low hit to Youji's stomach.   
  
Gasping, Youji let his fist fly at Ran's face, trying to surprise him. Ran side-stepped the punch, but he wasn't quite quick enough. He took the impact on his shoulder with a grunt and in the same instant, shoved Youji forcefully. Youji hit the wall, his head bouncing with a thud, the last of the air rushing from his lungs at the impact. Pressing close, Ran knuckle-punched him in the ribs, hitting with a single minded blind fury. He could feel Youji's hands twisting his shirt, pushing him away. He couldn't remember why he was so angry.   
  
"Dammit, Aya," Youji grunted, finally getting enough purchase to force him away. Ran took a step back as Youji shoved at him, but he grabbed the blond's hand and twisted, knocking Youji off balance as he tried to strike out.   
  
Ran was kneeling over Youji before he even realized he had moved. Youji was shaking his head, trying to recover from the shock of hitting the ground. On the edges of his tunnel vision, Ran could see pain and puzzlement in Youji's green eyes, but he tuned them out, focusing on his anger, pummeling Youji in the chest for all he was worth. Only it wasn't even Youji anymore, it was a faceless, nameless thing, responsible for all his hurt and rage.   
  
He could feel Youji fighting him, trying to push him off, to get away, but he wouldn't be deterred. It wasn't until he felt arms around his chest and he was heaved up and away from Youji's prone body that he came back to himself. 


	12. Twelve

------   
  
Twelve   
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"You're a fucking asshole, Fujimiya, I hope you know that," Youji swore as he gingerly lowered himself onto a bench in the cell they'd been assigned.   
  
Aya pressed his lips together and looked away, but didn't respond.   
  
"And I'm not just talking about you beating the shit out of me," Youji continued, dabbing a bit of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. "Do you know how hard it is to stand there and watch the chibi fight tears? No, of course not," he said bitterly. "You just walk out on him like everyone else in his life has."   
  
Youji's head was pounding. He had a bruise forming on his cheek where Aya had slugged him, to go along with what were most likely bruised ribs from the beating on his chest. "And did you have to hit me in the face, you prick?"   
  
Frustration grew within Youji as Aya replied with a faint smirk of amusement. Damn the asshole. He was finding this funny. "Well, I'm so fucking glad you're going to enjoy a night in jail. You beat me up. Why the hell am I here when you're the one that can't control your fucking temper?"   
  
The blonde was aware of the fact that he was babbling slightly. But Aya wasn't talking, wouldn't talk, Youji was sure, and he'd be damned if he was going to try to win a staring contest with the prick. He was too sore to lie down on the hard bench, in too much pain to sleep sitting up. It had taken them a few hours to get processed through to their lovely accommodations and all the injuries that Aya had inflicted on him were making themselves known with a vengeance.   
  
"Ch'," Youji swore again. "Did they have to take my cigarettes, too?"   
  
"Do you think I'd let you smoke in here?" Aya growled from his own bench, looking serene and composed as always, the hint of a smile gone from his lips.   
  
"It's the fucking least you could do," Youji muttered. "I'm going to be black and blue for a week." He shifted, trying to get comfortable.   
  
He foresaw a long night ahead. It had already been a long afternoon.   
  
They'd been arrested in front of the Magic Bus. Youji hadn't had any identification and Aya's, strangely enough, had said "Fujimiya Ran." The PI inside Youji told him to file away that piece of information for later. Youji's lack of id and fingerprints in the system (thanks to Kritiker) had extended the time it had taken to get them worked through the process.   
  
Eventually, Youji had used his one phone call to get a hold of Manx as his "employer" to vouch for his identity. The arresting officer had spent some time on the phone with the secretary, and had a positively evil grin on his face when he returned. It was then that they'd confiscated Youji's cigarettes and sun glasses, quoting "standard operating procedure" as they denied the blonde the only comfort he had.   
  
Youji shifted, trying to find some position to rest his body in so he didn't ache. He couldn't sit; he had probably bruised his tailbone when he fell. He'd hit the ground so hard he'd bitten his lip when he bounced slightly.   
  
He moved again, the sounds of his clothes rustling echoing through the small room. He couldn't rest on his sides, his hips were too bony. He could lay on his back, but it hurt too much to breathe that way. Stomach was out because of the bruises on his torso, thanks to the prick sitting across from him, seemingly asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. Youji was just about ready to give up and stand against the wall, figuring that might be his best chance of finding some comfortable way to at least doze.   
  
"Are you physically incapable of sitting still?" Aya growled from across the cell.   
  
"Well excuse the fuck out of me," Youji growled back. His temper was shot to hell. "I was knocked on my ass, hit in the face, punched in the ribs and stomach, by you, by the way, and have been denied nicotine for," he glanced at his watch, "six hours. I have a headache, I'm hungry, and my whole body hurts. Yes, I'm physically incapable of sitting still, you ass."   
  
Aya grunted and settled back against the wall, once again appearing to ignore Youji's existence.   
  
Youji seethed. Truly unable to sit still, he got up and paced. Fuck Aya. He had no room to bitch. It was his fault they were there anyway. What had he been thinking to start pounding on Youji right there in front of the hospital? Of course someone was going to call the police. Two young men brawling in front of a hospital was going to draw attention.   
  
And what really pissed Youji off was that Aya had walked away without a scratch. Youji hadn't managed to land a single good punch. Youji was the taller, but Aya had a good thirty pounds more of muscle packed on, mostly in his arms and shoulders, and Youji now understood the hours the redhead used to spend in the gym in the Koneko. Youji relied on speed and stealth; he had no need for the brute strength Aya used to wield his katana.   
  
And he'd left his shopping bags in front of that girl's room when Aya had dragged him off. The asshole. He'd splurged a fair amount of his last pay check on himself for once, instead of dumping it into the house fund, and it was probably all gone.   
  
_Fucking prick_ Youji paced, hands unconsciously clenching and unclenching as he walked, trying to ignore the longing for a hit of nicotine, boot clad footsteps sounding off the concrete floor. He was tired and hurt, but couldn't stop moving. He was overly aware of Aya's body in the small space, his own reacting in ways that Youji didn't want to ponder.   
  
"For fuck's sake, Kudou," Aya growled again.   
  
"Oh, shut up," Youji shot right back. "It's your fucking fault I can't sit down, so just deal with it, okay?" It was also Aya's fault that Youji was trying to keep his body under control. It didn't matter that the blonde was pissed off at the redhead, his body still reacted to Aya's like it always had. Just being in the same room as Aya was arousing, and Youji was struggling to hang on to the anger that would deflect the arousal. It helped that every time he moved it hurt, and it was Aya's hands that had inflicted that pain.   
  
Youji continued to pace, the sounds of his steps and the light, barely heard rhythm of Aya's breathing the only noise in the cell. He'd never done real well with small spaces. The residual effects of having been accidentally locked in a closet as a child, he assumed. He was mostly over the anxiety that had plagued much of his teenage years, having been able to realize that not all small dark rooms were places where Bad Things happened.   
  
The lights flickered and went out. Youji sighed and cautiously moved toward the empty bench. With a sudden flash of brilliance, he peeled off his turtleneck and folded it into a makeshift pillow to cushion his hip as he stretched out, groaning slightly. Damn, but he hurt.   
  
"Fuck you, Fujimiya Aya," Youji muttered. True sleep evaded him as he laid there, floating in and out of that hazy realm that wasn't real rest. Light from the corridor allowed him to see Aya, sitting still as death save the rise and fall of his chest.   
  
He sighed again and tried to pretend he was back in his nice soft bed in his apartment above the koneko. The koneko. Shit. Omi was probably going to be panicked, wondering where he was. He had told the chibi he would be out for the afternoon, but would be back for dinner. Omi was going to order pizza for the three of them.   
  
Dammit, Youji cursed himself. He hoped Manx had taken the time to call the kid and let him know what had happened. He'd know soon enough; it was about that time of night for the younger two to attempt a jail break for their comrade.   
  
But the chaos that would follow any of Ken's plans never happened as Youji lay on his bench, watching Aya sleep. And when the building failed to shake with the results of Omi's explosives, Youji figured that they weren't coming for him, so Manx had to have told them something.   
  
Time ticked by as Youji tried to sleep, head throbbing from his impact against the wall of the hospital. They had given him a cursory medical exam when they'd taken him into custody, so he knew he didn't have a concussion and was safe to sleep, but he couldn't quite seem to drift off. His eyes kept finding the pale form of his ex-teammate across the room.   
  
Youji missed Aya, even the silent, sullen, cold hearted bastard who yelled at the school girls in the shop. He missed the almost smiles that he could coax out of the redhead when he fought with Ken, the smell of his private stock of tea he rarely let any of them touch.   
  
He missed the feel of their bodies together in the dark, the hint of longing and want in purple eyes that never reached firm lips. Youji even missed that ugly orange sweater tangled in a pool of his own clothing on the floor of Aya's room.   
  
The blonde wished he could go back and change things. He wanted to go back to that night, where he'd just talked to Aya and fallen asleep in the armchair. He wanted to change the evening he'd come drunk and let Aya treat him like a whore and make him talk to him, make Aya see him as a person, not just a fuck-toy to be discarded when finished. He desperately wished he could find a way to make that fatal evening that Aya had thrown him out never happen. He finally drifted off to sleep with that last thought in his mind.   
  
Youji woke with a start, his heart pounding in his chest, cold sweat soaking his back. He groaned as he sat up, body aching from the pummeling the previous day. Aya, he saw, was awake, watching from the other side of the room. An image from his nightmare passed across his vision, replacing the silent, stone faced Aya with the gory, blood drenched man he'd watched die in his sleep. Shaking his head to banish the vision, Youji retrieved his shirt from the bench and slipped it on, easing some of the chill in his arms.   
  
He could feel Aya's eyes on him as he rose slowly, easing kinks out of his body by slowly pacing their confines. His anger hadn't diminished any during the time he had slept. If anything, it had seemed to grow, seeing how easily Aya was able to slip into sleep, despite the conditions.   
  
"What?" he growled at the redhead after long silent minutes with Aya's gaze on his back.   
  
"Hn." Aya slumped back against the wall, eyes sliding closed again, giving at least the outward appearance of sleep.   
  
Youji made a rude gesture with his hand as he continued to measure out the length of their cell with his stride.   
  
"Kudou, Fujimiya," a guard spoke from the hall. "You're being released." The door slid open. "Let's go."   
  
Aya stood smoothly, making the transition from sleep to wake in a heartbeat. Youji growled softly and followed him out of the cell. 


	13. Thirteen

Ran sighed and rolled down his window pointedly as Youji lit another cigarette from the smouldering butt of the previous. Youji sneered at him and took a deep drag, but he blew the smoke out his window.

"Don't worry," said Birman from the front seat sweetly, her elegantly manicured fingers curled lightly around a cigarette of her own, "I'm sure you'll die before you get lung cancer."

Youji snorted, turning his head to blow out a cloud of smoke.

"I hope you realize exactly how much trouble you caused," Manx said, stepping on the gas and sliding into traffic. "It took a lot of fast talking just to get them to drop the charges and release you into my tender care."

"It's not like I planned on getting arrested," Youji muttered around his cigarette.

"Shut up, Kudou," Ran snapped.

"I don't want to hear another word out of either of you," Manx ordered from behind the wheel. "How could you both be so stupid? No, wait, don't answer that."

"He started it," Youji mumbled petulantly.

"Be quiet!" Manx barked. "I don't care who started what, I'm ending it right here. You risked everything with that little display of temper yesterday."

"Just drive, darling," Birman purred. "You can chew them out properly at the office."

Manx growled and swerved into the far lane, leaving a cacophony of horns and angry shouts in her wake.

Ran bit his lip and avoided Manx's piercing eyes in the rear view mirror. Contrary to what Youji believed, he had lain awake for most of the night, feigning sleep, thinking over his actions and regretting them. It made no difference that he would rather cut off his own hand than admit it – he was sorry. Youji had the ability to press his buttons, and he had completely lost control of himself.

"Ah, Manx," Youji spoke up. "Did anyone happen to find my shopping bags in the hospital?"

"For fuck's sake, Kudou," Ran mumbled. Why did the man always think of the most frivolous things in tense situations. There had been one mission – 

"I thought I told you both to shut up?" Manx ground out.

Birman turned to face the back seat. "I suggest following her orders, gentlemen. You don't want to see her get mad." She grinned and winked at Ran, settling back into her seat with a satisfied air.

Manx swerved again, cutting some poor sod off, and cursed viciously. 

Birman patted her knee knowingly. "Rush hour traffic's a bitch," she said brightly.

A tense silence descended on the car. Ran heard a rustle of fabric, which meant that Youji was fidgeting again. He spared a quick glance in the blonde's direction. Youji looked miserable in full daylight, moving every few seconds to shift his weight around, a large purple bruise spreading across his cheek and jaw line. He looked away quickly, avoiding Youji's gaze as it slid over to him.

"Birman," Youji began, but Ran poked his leg before he got any farther. Manx glared at him in the mirror again.

"Aspirin?" Birman rustling around in her purse was the only noise in the now silent car as Manx wove easily through the morning rush hour traffic. The brunette dug a small gold tin out of her stylish black purse and handed it between the two seats to Youji.

"Thanks," Youji murmured, taking out two white pills and swallowing them dry before handing the tin back.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ran watched Youji slump against the door, closing his eyes. Ran avoided meeting anyone's gaze, preferring to stare blankly out the window, watching the buildings speed past, the silence in the car unnerving even for him.

The car bounced slightly as Manx pulled into the underground parking garage. She lifted her hand at the security guard as he waved them past the barrier.

They piled out of the car without a word, Manx and Birman heading up their strange little parade, Youji bringing up the rear. His footsteps were uneven in the echoing staircase. Ran winced. _Your fault, your fault,_ Kikyo whispered in his sibilant voice. _Shut up,_ Ran whispered back. Kikyo subsided into his dream state with a faint mocking laugh.

"Hurry it up boys," Birman called down from the balcony above them. "You look like you're going to a funeral." She giggled.

"I'm going as fast as I can," Youji snapped, leaning on the railing and glaring up at her.

Ran just kept his head down and climbed methodically. If Manx thought he was going to hurry to what promised to be the ass-chewing of the century, she needed to have her head checked.

"I had the crap between out of me not even twenty-four hours ago, and they want me to move faster?" Youji grumbled quietly.

Wincing, Ran bit his tongue and kept going. He jogged up the last few steps, ignoring Birman, who made a mock bow and held the door open for him with a sly grin.

"She's already in her office," she told Youji behind him. "Think you can make it on your own?"

Youji's only answer was an inarticulate growl and a slam of the stair door. His footsteps sounded angrily through the hall.

"Hey, wait for me!" Birman called. "This is too good to miss."

Ran sighed and pulled open the door to Manx's soundproof office. The owner of said office was pacing behind her desk, delicate features drawn into a black scowl, the fingers of her right hand clenching and unclenching in time with her steps. A feeling akin to nervousness settled in the pit of Ran's stomach. He had never seen Manx angry before, and he certainly never wanted to again.

"Sit," she ordered, pointing to a chair in front of her expansive desk.

Ran sat. It seemed like the best course of action. Youji sidled in a few moments later, and paused before taking the other seat. He squirmed around, trying to find a comfortable position. Ran watched him surreptitiously. Birman snuck in behind Youji and closed the door, sealing them off from any possible rescue or escape.

"Would one of you like to explain to me why I had to come pick your sorry asses up from the detention center at eight in the morning?" Manx started as soon as they were seated. "And why the _hell_ didn't you have any ID, Kudou?"

"Ah ... that is ..." Youji trailed off.

"No excuses," Manx snapped, tolerance gone, or perhaps never in place to begin with that morning.

Ran sank down a little farther in his seat. He didn't have any explanations or excuses for his behavior, and anything he could say at this juncture would only bring Manx's wrath down on him.

"And what the fuck were you," at this, Manx stabbed her finger violently in Ran's direction, "thinking with that display of irresponsible, immature, bone-headed example of testosterone driven male-ness?"

Fixing his gaze on a corner of the ceiling, Ran pressed his lips together and remained silent. All he could do was endure.

"You put yourselves and the team at risk. If you'd been anywhere but the Magic Bus Hospital, your covers would have been blown, especially with your," the finger jabbed at Youji, and he flinched, "lack of ID. Can't you sit still?" she barked as Youji shifted in his seat for the umpteenth time.

"Sorry," Youji muttered, re-crossing his legs.

Manx ran her hands through her hair. "Please tell me this was something more than just an argument over who's bigger, boys. Because if that's all it was –" she cut herself off.

Birman sniggered behind them. She skirted around the wall and sat primly on a corner of Manx's enormous mostly empty desk.

"All right," Manx, said, dropping into her chair, anger replaced by the cool mask Ran was used to seeing his employer with. "Here's what we're going to do."

Kicking her shoes off, Birman wiggled her toes in childlike glee. Her nails matched the colour on her fingers, Ran noticed. "Go easy on them, dear," she said. "They can't help being male."

Manx sighed. "I know." She gestured to Youji. "Take him home. I think he's had punishment enough already."

Birman slipped her feet into her shoes, flashing a wicked grin in Ran's direction before nodding to Youji and leading the way out of Manx's office. Ran watched them go with a kind of desperation. Why did Youji get off so easily?

"As for you, Fujimiya Ran," Manx said ominously, "You are also going to go back home."

"Home?" Ran managed. His stomach churned.

"Yes. Your grace period is over." Manx picked up a pen and rolled it thoughtfully between her thumb and forefinger. "Whatever your problems are with Youji, fix them. I"m not going to break up the best team we have just because you two suddenly can't get along."

Ran cleared his throat, but said nothing. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Manx fixed him with her patented (Ran was sure) piercing glare. "That's what this transfer was all about, wasn't it?"

Squirming, Ran worried his lip with his teeth. She was frighteningly perceptive. She had wormed her way through all of his excuses and arrived at the heart of the matter, the thing that he could barely admit even to himself.

"I have taken the liberty," at this, Manx smiled for the first time that morning, "of packing your things. I expect you to be at the Koneko tonight, understand?"

"Yes," Ran said roughly. His stomach had dropped down a few stories, and his heart contracted. He had to go back. He had to go back and face Youji, and – 

Manx set the pen down with a click. "I will notify Omi. He was very worried about you, you know," she added in a softer tone. 

Ran nodded. He knew. 

"I will leave an explanation to them up to you," she continued, standing.

"Yes," Ran said simply, rising with her. He made a short bow in her direction and headed for the door.

"Aya."

He turned.

"Don't make me regret not killing you while I was angry enough." Her tone was warning, but she was smiling.

Ran's mouth twisted. "We'll see," he said.


	14. Fourteen

Youji thanked Birman for the ride as he eased himself out of the car, his first priorities being aspirin and a long soak before a nap in his own soft bed. He let himself in the back door, jacket draped over his arm.

"Ohayou, Youji-kun," Omi said cheerfully, peeking out of the kitchen. "There's coffee." The genki grin fell from his face as Youji drew closer, wide blue eyes taking in the stiffness of Youji's movements and the ugly bruise on his cheek. "What happened?"

"I lost a fist fight with a marble statue," Youji answered. "Do we have any aspirin?"

Omi looked confused but didn't press the issue. "Hai." He wandered off to fetch one of the many bottles they had stashed away. Over-training and mission injuries, combined with the insomnia induced headaches they all suffered from at some point forced them to keep painkillers on hand, usually not too far out of reach. Youji was just too tired to go find one himself. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the communal pot and lowered himself in to a chair at their kitchen table for a moment.

The caffeine helped ease the throbbing in his temples, but didn't help keep him moving, so deep was his fatigue. His whole body hurt and he was tired and frustrated and very much wanting to just sleep for the afternoon.

"Here, Youji-kun." Omi presented the blonde with a few tablets, which he swallowed down with the dregs of his coffee.

"Thanks, chibi." Youji levered himself out of the chair. He winced as he stood up straight. He found a smile for the youngest member of their team. "Don't worry, Omittichi. I'll be fine after a shower and a nap." He ruffled the floppy blonde hair as he moved past.

Youji sighed as he passed the fist sized hole in the wall at the bottom of the stairs. He hadn't had a chance to patch the result of Ken's rage, and apparently, the soccer player hadn't gotten around to it either. He hauled himself up the stairs slowly, going straight for the bathroom and the shower.

He groaned as he bent to turn on the taps, cold water switching to hot after a beat, steam beginning to fill the small space as Youji stripped slowly out of the clothes he'd been in for over a day. His chest was a myriad of bruises from where Aya had struck him repeatedly, but he didn't think any of his ribs were damaged. The aspirin and coffee took the edge off his headache, but he still felt like he'd been slammed against a wall a few times.

_Oh wait_, he thought sarcastically as he stripped out of his pants. _I was_. He winced as he bent slightly to tug off his pants. If he could have seen his backside, Youji guessed it would have been the same color as the bruise on his cheek. He still didn't know who the girl had been, the one that shared Aya's name. And for the life of him, Youji couldn't figure out what exactly he'd said that had turned the redhead's rage on him. He hadn't expected it; should have, probably, but even after all the times they had sparred together, practicing their hand to hand combat maneuvers, he hadn't been able to shake Aya off, hadn't been able to anticipate any of his moves enough to counter or get away. Aya's anger had overridden everything else, making him impossible to fight against. 

Youji used the steam-slicked tile for balance as he climbed over the edge of the tub. They'd installed a tub a year or so ago, before Aya had joined the team, when Ken had been injured severely enough that he couldn't stand long enough to shower. And it had made sense, and seen good use since then with the various wounds they brought home from their evening profession.

He stood under the hot spray, letting it melt away the pain and tension in his chest and back.

Manx had made him drag his ass up four flights of stairs before starting their ass chewing in earnest. Couldn't the woman have let them take the elevator for once? The lecture he had expected from their boss never came, Youji thought as he shampooed his hair. They had gotten off surprisingly easy, considering. Manx had been right; they could have blown not only their own covers, but that of the rest of the team, not to mention Kritiker as a whole.

_But it wasn't like I did anything_ Youji thought as he rinsed. Maybe he shouldn't have followed Aya, but he couldn't have let an opportunity pass him by when he saw the redhead on the street. He needed an explanation, some kind of closure as to why Aya had left. He hadn't thought the simple question would make Aya turn on him the way he had.

Youji could barely see through the cloud of steam when he pulled the curtain aside. Two clean towels perched on the closed toilet seat; Omi had probably snuck in while he had soaked. He wrapped one around his waist and used the other to scrub at his hair. No longer dripping, he bent slowly to retrieve his laundry off the floor before moving to his room.

He eased onto his bed, not bothering with clothes as he stretched out, slowly dropping off into blissful unconsciousness.

The sun had progressed across the sky by the time Youji stirred. He groaned as he buried his head under his pillow. He didn't really feel any better for the sleep. His stomach rumbled and other bodily demands made themselves known, decided for him that it was time to drag his ass out of bed. A glance at the clock proved what he suspected; it was late afternoon. He'd only slept a few hours.

Youji saw to the demands of his body before clattering downstairs barefoot and wearing only his low slung jeans. The TV blared from the common room as Youji padded into the kitchen, looking to fill his empty stomach.

His first step was to pull a tumbler from the cupboard and fill it with water as he searched the counters for the bottle of aspirin Omi had found for him earlier. It was sitting on the table, where it had been left that morning.

"Sleep well, Youji-kun?" Omi fairly bounced into the kitchen.

_We need to start monitoring his sugar intake again_ Youji thought wryly. "Good enough," he answered, flipping the cap off the bottle of aspirin. He set the bottle on the edge of the sink after swallowing three tablets with a glass of water.

Youji rummaged through the refrigerator, coming up with leftover take out, still in the boxes. He couldn't remember how long it had been there, but it smelled okay. Omi ducked around him and pulled a bottle of Ken's sports drink from the back. Omi was just as serious an assassin as the rest of them, but there were times when the teen's age was obvious, personality shifting to the bright cheerful child he was when he wasn't blowing things up or hacking into security systems.

His lunch dumped on a plate, Youji stuck it in the microwave and leaned against the counter as it warmed.

The back door slammed shut. A moment later a familiar slim figure stood in the doorway of the kitchen, two duffel bags slung over his shoulder and a box held in outstretched arms. His lips were pressed together in a tight thin line, frown creasing his forehead, looking for all the world to Youji like he was going to bite someone's head off if they so much as breathed wrong in his presence.

"Welcome home, Aya-kun," Omi said cheerfully.

Youji watched in amazement as the harsh expression softened. "Thank you," the redhead said quietly before turning and carrying his burden up the stairs.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Youji asked Omi, staring after Aya.

"Manx called while you were asleep," Omi said, the genki grin back on his face. "Aya-kun has been re-assigned to us."

The kid actually looked happy about that. Youji sighed. Great. "I don't suppose I could get you to shift the schedules around so we don't have to work together?" After Aya's display of temper outside the hospital, Youji wasn't sure he wanted to try to share a shift in the koneko with the younger man. The slightest mistake would probably get the crap beaten out of him again.

"I'm sorry, Youji-kun," Omi chirped. "This week's work schedule is already set."

"Ken can do it." 

"Kenken requested closing shift this week. You'll just have to work with Aya-kun."

"Omi," Youji practically growled at the teenager.

"I'm sorry, Yotan," Omi repeated with a shrug. "There's nothing I can do." With that, he wandered off, probably going back to the movie he'd abandoned briefly.

_Perfect_ Youji thought. _Just fucking perfect_.

No longer hungry, he scraped the remnants of his lunch into the trash, leaving the plate in the sink to be dealt with later.

Not up to facing the stairs again he carefully dropped into a chair at the table. He wasn't looking forward to the next day. The tense silence of the car ride to Manx's office had been one thing – having to be locked in the shop with the swordsman for an entire day with little hope of escape was another. The bastard probably wouldn't even let him out to smoke.

There was something between them, Youji had felt it in the car, in the cell, in the elevator. Of course, in the elevator in the hospital he had mostly sensed Aya's anger – but in the car there had been a different tension besides that of the impending ass chewing Manx was getting ready to bestow upon them. It was something else, something electric but he couldn't put his finger on it.

And he wasn't looking forward to an entire day of it.

"Oi, Youji!" Omi called. "Dirty Harry's on!"

Youji smirked as he hauled himself up. The movie would probably just put him to sleep, but it would be better than listening to the thoughts running around in his head. Especially the English movie with Japanese subtitles that Omi used to help hone his skills with the western language.

He joined the teenager on the couch, Ken watching intently from the armchair. True to his prediction, Youji was fast asleep in no time.


	15. Fifteen

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Fifteen

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To act without thinking ...

Ran's father had always taught him the opposite. Deliberate before you commit yourself to any one course of action. Think it through. Plan your moves ahead of time.

They had played chess constantly.

The chess set that had been his father's favorite was hand made. It had come all the way from England. His father had lifted it onto the table, reverently unwrapped each piece and set them exactingly on his board. Ran had stood and watched, and when his father was done, he had turned to his son and asked, "Play a game?"

After his parents had died, he had become driven by revenge. And he had had no plan, no moves plotted out. He had let his heart and his rage dictate his actions, instead of his head. It hadn't really been clear to him until his fight with Youji in front of the Magic Bus Hospital. He was letting his emotions rule, and that was unacceptable. His anger should have died with Takatori, but it was still there, raging wildly inside him. Aya-chan hadn't woken up.

There was no justification for his actions, his murders. But he could live with that. He had to. There was no justification, and really, no explanation for his explosion at Youji either. He needed to make that right, and yet ...

The small details of what Youji wanted, and needed, and what Ran himself wanted. He didn't know.

Youji sauntered into the shop, and Ran looked up from the ledger he had been working on. The accounts for the shop were easy; he could practically do them in his sleep. It had been slow, so Youji had taken a break while there was time.

"I'm here," Youji said, yawning.

Ran turned back to his book with unseeing eyes. The small problem of the sheer proximity of the man. It had been nearly a week since he had come back, and every day he worked in the flower shop, Youji had been scheduled at the same time. It was starting to wear on his nerves.

Shuffling around the shop, Youji rearranged the flowers in their bins sleepily before gingerly settling himself on the high stool by the register and propping his head up in his hands.

He couldn't help but be conscious of every move, every sigh that the older man made. And he couldn't help feeling guilty for every wince of pain. Ran regretted his actions more and more with every day, but he still hadn't brought himself to apologize, or do anything about it, really. He had just avoided Youji, avoided talking to his teammates in general, and shut himself in his room.

Youji, blinking his eyes to clear them of lingering sleep, yawned again and stretched his arms. His atypically long shirt rode up and showed just the barest hint of tanned skin. Ran looked away, but remembered what it felt like to touch that skin. What it felt like when those lips curved against his neck. The scent of vanilla, in his nose and on his tongue.

Ran shut the book with a snap and sighed. There was a whole pile of arrangements waiting for him. He doubted his mind was in the right place to do true ikebana, but he could start on the simpler arrangements first.

He sat down at his worktable (he still thought of it as his, even though they all used it) and sorted through the small white pieces of paper. Omi's beautiful script, Ken's messy kanji, Youji's surprisingly neat hand. He had missed them. He had missed the scent of flowers clinging to his clothes, the tiny pricks in his fingers from the roses, the feel of petals on his skin, of damp earth under his fingernails. It was so easy to slip back into the routine, back into the slot he had vacated. That had been waiting for him.

Standing up, Youji cracked his knuckles. "Guess I should get back to work," he announced to the world at large.

Ran didn't look up and didn't answer. He had never been so at a loss for what to say. Usually, it was that he didn't want to speak, not that he couldn't. He felt closed off from the rest of his co-workers, and unable to bridge that gap.

"Hey, Aya." Youji leaned on the broom, which in his hands, more often than not, was just a prop, as opposed to a tool. "You need anything?"

Silently, Ran stood and slid the paper across the table toward Youji. He headed to the back, carefully selecting a vase that would complement the arrangement from their shelf. Youji had the flowers neatly laid out when he returned, and was watering plants at the front of the store in a desultory fashion. He had moved on to sweeping the front walk when Ran put the last flower in its place.

Setting the completed arrangement to one side, Ran shuffled through the requests again, picking something out that he knew they had a vase for. He made a mental reminder to take inventory sometime soon, and have Omi order them a new supply. The kid had a remarkably good eye for things that would sell. Someday, he would teach Omi ikebana. With his artistic eye and exacting personality, he would excel at it.

Someday, perhaps, when he felt human again.

The bell over the shop door tinkled as Youji came in, leaning the broom in its usual spot. "Want me to put that in the cooler for you?" he asked, pointing.

Ran nodded. "Get me the flat green vase, too," he said.

Youji looked almost taken aback that he had actually spoken, but said smoothly, "Sure."

While Youji was banging around in the cooler, Ran walked around the shop, choosing the flowers for his next few arrangements. Youji probably had been surprised, he reflected. It was easily the first complete sentence he had spoken to the man since coming back.

He had been holding them all at arm's length, really. It had been habit for so long, and he had fallen right back into the hole he had dug for himself. It was just so _hard_. He knew what it had felt like for them, to be abandoned. He had seen the mark of Ken's anger on the wall, the hurt buried deep in Omi's eyes, the wariness on Youji's face. _You should fix that_, he told himself. Before there was a mission, and that wariness killed one of them.

But what to do, when he didn't know how to say anything?

Setting the flowers he had chosen in a pile on the table, Ran sat down and rested his head in his hands. He had no idea how to cross the gulf that lay between him and the rest of his teammates, and now it was more important than it ever had before. How would they trust him again if he didn't?

Ran didn't look up as Youji set the vase carefully by his elbow. He half expected the blonde to ask him if he was all right, but Youji's footsteps moved quietly away from him toward the front of the shop. Taking a deep breath, he scrubbed his hands over his face. Now was not the time to be thinking about how to reconcile his team with his desertion. Now was the time to think about flowers.

With a conscious effort, he cleared his mind, shoving all the dark thoughts aside for a moment. The arrangement he had chosen was fairly simple, and he concentrated on the placement of the flowers, their colors and shapes, vaguely aware of Youji shifting things around in the shop.

A resounding crash directly behind him jolted him up and out of his chair. He whirled around, barely taking in the shattered pot, the still quivering leaves of the plant on the floor, before grabbing Youji's shoulder and clenching his fist.

Youji flinched.

Ran stared into Youji's eyes for a long minute, struggling to control himself, to damp down this inexplicable rage that had bubbled to the surface. He took a step back, willing his hand to let go, his fist to lower. This wasn't what he needed to do. But he was so angry, he was so ...

_Unhappy_, he finally admitted to himself. He was so unhappy.

Dropping his eyes from Youji's face, Ran muttered, "Inventory," leaving his arrangement half finished on the table and escaping to the back room. It was something he had needed to do anyway, and it offered him a quiet place to think, to decide what he should do away from everyone, away from Youji. Because he never wanted to see that look in Youji's eyes again.


	16. Sixteen

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Sixteen   
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Youji lay spread eagle on his bed, cigarette loosely grasped between his index and middle finger, arm draped over the side of this bed. Soft classical music drifted out of the speakers of his stereo, the room dark save for the light of the moon and street lamps outside peeking through the curtains he hadn't bothered to pull all the way closed . An open bottle of Scotch sat on his dresser, a glass, empty save ice cubes and a splash of amber in the bottom, sitting next to it. Youji had only poured himself one so far, letting it mellow in his stomach while he thought and considered another.

The scene from earlier that day kept replaying in his mind. He hadn't meant to drop the pot – but he was still stiff and sore, and a spasm of pain shooting through his lower back had caught him off guard. The pot had slipped from his hands before he could stop it. Instantly, Aya had been in his face. And Youji had felt himself flinch and try to pull away when the redhead had raised his fist. 

Youji took a drag on his cig. He had been so sure Aya was going to hit him. But he hadn't. Youji had watched Aya take a step back, an odd expression on his face before he muttered something about inventory and turned toward the stock room. He had reappeared later, after Omi turned up and the hordes of giggling school girls arrived for their daily gawking session. The rest of the afternoon had passed without incident, Aya vanishing as soon as the metal grate dropped over the door.

Youji stubbed out his cigarette and poured himself another splash but didn't drink it as he lay back down, sighing as his weight was distributed over more of his body than his abused tailbone. It hurt less than it had a week ago, but some positions were still uncomfortable.

"Come in," he drawled, turning his head toward the knock at the door, but otherwise not moving. He blinked a few times when it swung open revealing Aya, still dressed as he had been earlier in the day. Youji had expected Omi, coming to drag him off to watch a movie or play video games. Not Aya.

"Come to kick my ass again, Fujimiya?" he asked as he pulled himself so he was sitting against the headboard – ready to defend himself if Aya launched himself from the door way. But Aya didn't look angry; he looked, well, tired, if Youji thought that description could ever fit his teammate. Aya never looked tired. He always looked angry, or cool and calm, but rarely let his expression show what he was feeling.

If anything, Aya looked even more tired at that statement. "No," he said, standing in the doorway almost hesitantly, arms dangling loosely at his sides.

"Well." Youji paused, unsure what was happening. Nothing had ever made Aya approach him this way before. "What do you want, then?"

"About today," Aya began, then looked down at his feet and clenched his hands. "I -- I'm sorry."

Youji felt like his jaw was hanging around somewhere by his knees. He shut his mouth with a snap. Aya was apologizing? Aya never apologized. The closest he had ever come was telling Omi he wasn't a Takatori.

"It won't happen again," Aya said, and turned to go.

"Hey," Youji broke through his astonishment and found his voice. "Hey. Stay a while." He nodded to the bottle on the dresser, beads of condensation slowly trickling down the sides. Youji wasn't sure what prompted the invitation, but it sounded like a good idea, sharing this space with someone, anyone, and honestly, Aya looked like he could use a drink.

Aya paused, one hand on the door, glancing back over his shoulder at Youji. His eyes were in shadow. Youji had no idea what he was thinking. Aya was as inscrutable as always. He finally nodded once and, shutting the door behind him, walked through the entire room to the window, as if completely committing himself.

Youji watched Aya stare out the window, the silence between them growing heavy, but not uncomfortable, the gaps filled by the soft music still piped through the blonde's stereo. After several minutes, Youji shifted, still unable to stay in one position for long, moving to the edge of the bed where he could retrieve another glass from the drawer. He stood, crossing to his small fridge and after withdrawing a tray of ice, popped a few cubes into the glass with a soft rattle. He filled the glass with just enough scotch to set the cubes shifting and twirling in the glass, about two fingers worth. He set the glass on the padded window sill next to Aya's elbow.

He turned back to his dresser and heard a soft clink; when he turned back toward his teammate, the glass was empty and Aya was perched in the window seat that Youji often occupied, smoking out the window when he couldn't be bothered to go outside. His own glass and bottle in hand, Youji settled into the chair near the window, placing the bottle within easy reach of both of them, letting Aya refill his own glass, if he wanted to.

Youji sipped at his second drink, not entirely comfortable with the situation and wanting to be able to stay in control. He didn't say a word as Aya reached for the bottle, pouring himself another glass. Youji didn't know why Aya was there, why he had stayed, why he was sitting in the window seat, staring at the street below, drinking his liquor. But he knew that to talk first would be a mistake; something within him told him to wait, to enjoy the quiet moment, to savor it, because it was always possible that it wouldn't happen again.

It wasn't long after Aya's second glass was empty that Youji noticed the faint flush across the man's cheeks. Unless he'd eaten on his own, he hadn't had dinner. Or lunch, Youji remembered. He had offered to fix something for them both, but Aya had ignored him.

When Aya moved to fill his glass again, Youji held his out as well, and he found it neatly topped off before the swordsman's attention was once again turned to the world outside, where nothing was happening and Youji knew from long experience that the most interesting thing to see was the patterns in the cracks of the building next door.

"My sister," Aya said suddenly, breaking the silence that had settled in after the cd had stopped.

"What?" asked Youji, confused.

"The girl is my sister."

Aya was answering a question, Youji realized, asked days ago. He made an encouraging noise.

Leaning his head against the window, Aya closed his eyes. "Her name is Aya. Growing up, she was my best friend." He fingered the long gold earring dangling from his ear. "I bought these for her, on her birthday."

Youji watched as the normally expressionless face shifted, hints of sorrow appearing on Aya's face for the first time Youji could remember since he'd met the man.

"I took her to the festival, and she absolutely begged me for them. I told her she was too young to wear them, but she insisted." Aya's eyes were still closed, but his mouth smiled a little. "She was always so cheerful and outgoing. Precious," he whispered.

"My parents were murdered. We came home from the festival and I-I found them. I didn't wand Aya to see all the blood; I wanted to cover her eyes, but there was a bomb. I made Aya run, screamed at her to go, and she went, and she was safe...

"I saw _him_ in the car, after the flash of explosion faded. Takatori. He waited, watched, to make sure it was done. And then - "

Aya paused. Youji held his breath, not daring to breathe lest he break the spell and the story not continue.

"She went flying, he was going so fast. Like -- a doll. And she lay so _still_." Aya pressed his fist to his mouth, as if he was trying not to cry, and maybe he was, Youji couldn't tell in the dim light. "When I woke up," he continued, "I was in the hospital, and Aya was in a coma."

_That explained the Takatori rages_, Youji thought, but didn't say anything out loud. He didn't know what he could say, what he should say. Anything he could say would only sound trite or unsympathetic. The man they had hunted had taken Aya's family, and he'd never said a word about it to any of them. It hurt Youji to think that Aya couldn't trust them, but the look on Aya's face was enough to make him understand why. The man carried so much pain and hadn't found a way to excise it.

Flexing his fingers, Aya said softly, "I'm glad he's dead."

Youji really didn't know what to say to that. They'd all had missions that they felt better about, people that they didn't mind killing, but people were still dead, no matter how much they deserved it. He supposed he could understand; Takatori had killed Aya's family, and Aya had killed Takatori, bringing himself some closure, Youji was sure. _But at what cost_? he thought, seeing the desolate look on Aya's face, eyes hidden. 

The silence returned, and Youji didn't mind it, turning Aya's words over in his head. He wasn't sure what to do with this knowledge, now that he had it. How miserable Aya must have been, alone in every sense of the word, no one to go to, no one to comfort him. It was no wonder then, that it had been so easy to get Aya to come upstairs with him, that night so long ago. Who knew how long it had been since anyone had offered the redhead any kind of comfort.

"I should go," Aya said suddenly, sliding off the bench. His mask was back, unreadable as usual, but his eyes held something now that Youji thought he could understand, something he hadn't seen before. Pain and loss, etched into the only feature that was likely beyond Aya's control. He could school his expression, but the eyes always revealed more then their owner thought, if someone knew what to look for. "Thanks for the drink," he murmured, slipping through the dark room toward the door.

"Wait," Youji breathed when Aya opened the door. Aya paused, hand on the knob. "If Aya is your sister's name," he hesitated for a brief instant, wondering if he should continue before plunging ahead. "What's yours?"

Aya turned back toward Youji, expression blank. Youji met his eyes, seeing the immense sadness there, the longing for the life he had just spoken of. Youji's heart sank when Aya turned back to the door. He didn't expect an answer, but Aya had been talkative up to that point, for Aya.

"Ran," Aya said softly as he opened the door. "My name is Ran."

Youji didn't say anything as Aya, _Ran_, he corrected himself mentally, closed the door quietly behind him. Ran, he thought, unwilling to try the name on his tongue. It wasn't his place. He had named him, after a fashion, after all. But it wasn't for him to decide to change it. It was Aya's, Ran's, whomever's. He should ask, Youji decided. Because Ran had trusted him enough to tell him his real name, and if he wanted the rest of the team to know, he would tell them in time.

Youji slumped in his chair, holding his sweating glass in his hand, inexplicably drained. He winced as he shifted, wondering when he'd be able to sit without pain. Aspirin took care of most of the aches, but the last dose had worn off and he couldn't get motivated enough to go find some more.

Part of him was still trying to process what had just happened. Ran had talked to him, answered his questions. Yes, it was a couple days after the fact, but he'd talked. Not only talked but apologized and thanked, all within an hour or so.

Suddenly he couldn't find it within himself to stay angry with the redhead any longer. Since the first couple days after Ran had first walked out, Youji had felt it slip farther and farther away, leaving him clutching at it so he could feel anything at all. It hadn't been hard, at first; all he had to do was take one look at Omi or pass the hole in the wall that Ken had left in his own rage and Youji felt his own boil back up to the surface. 

He had been holding onto that anger to replace the growing void he'd felt inside him since Ran had left. He was still hurt that Ran had skipped out without a word, and a little angry about the beating, but mostly he had been clinging to the remnants of that anger to stop from feeling hurt. Youji wanted Ran in his life, not just as the occasional fuck to make him forget everything else, but totally. He wanted more nights like they had just shared, not necessarily with the revelations of old ghosts, but quiet companionship over a drink, soft music and silence, lazy sex without being kicked out and the hope of doing it again when the sun rose. 

But Youji knew he was a romantic. And he knew that he had no chance of getting what he wanted.

Quite sober, Youji capped the bottle of scotch and tucked it back inside the fridge. He left his glass sitting on the window ledge next to the one Ran had abandoned. With a sigh he lowered himself onto his bed, flopping back and landing spread eagle. For a long time he stared up at the blank ceiling before sleep claimed him.


	17. Seventeen

A/N: This part contains sex. Please don't read if you think it will offend you.

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Seventeen   
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Ran slouched in the corner of a booth in the very back of the Blue Apple, waiting. His informant was already two hours late, but that was par for the course. He still might show up. This information Kiba had promised him was vital to Kritiker somehow. Manx hadn't exactly explained. She hadn't exactly asked either.

So, Ran thought of it as part of his penance, and waited.

Pouring himself a little more sake out of the small bottle on the table, he scowled. The sake was really quite good, but he had never truly enjoyed drinking alone. He had chosen sake because he could nurse it for a few hours and not get drunk. At least, not get too drunk; he could feel his skin slowly flushing in the heat of the bar. At least he had remembered to eat before he had left, though the rice was laying heavily in his stomach.

He shook a cigarette out of the pack lying on top of his jacket on the seat. His second. They helped him fit in, but that wasn't the reason he was smoking them. He had seen them in a kiosk while waiting for the subway earlier in the evening and impulsively bought them - they smelled like vanilla. There was still the acrid nicotine underlying it all, but the vanilla was sweet and soothed his senses, like coming home.

It shouldn't feel like that. When had he started thinking of the Koneko, of Youji, as home? The room he slept in, the kitchen he cooked and ate in, the worktable in the Koneko, all the other rooms he lived and breathed in, that alone should not make it feel like home. What he had always thought of as his home had burned down. He had no home now. But still the bond was holding them together was there, stretched and aching in his soul. He could no more deny it than he could the love he felt tying him to Aya-chan. 

And Aya-chan ...

"Hey there," a voice purred above his head. A girl, mid-twenties, bronze skin, too much eyeliner, epicanthic fold. Her hair was short and gelled into messy spikes. "This seat taken?" she asked, trailing her fingers down his arm.

Ran shifted out from under her hand. Not Kiba. "Yes," he answered shortly.

The girl shrugged, moving away toward easier marks. Ran sighed irritably. He tried to be as inconspicious as possible, but in a place like this, people were bound to notice him. It was unfortunate he had to remain at least partly visible so that Kiba could find him in the crowd. He wasn't comfortable being so exposed.

Exposed like he had been when he had bared his past to Youji. He hadn't meant to do that. But Youji had asked him to stay, and the confession had turned into part of his apology. He wasn't sure if Youji had taken it that way. He wasn't sure how Youji had taken it at all, because he had run as soon as he had realized how much he had told.

Was it a mistake? He hated to be unsure.

The minutes ticked agonizingly by. Ran poured himself more sake and winced as the music reached a screaming chorus. Checking his watch, he decided he would give Kiba another half an hour and then call it quits. It was an unspoken agreement between them that he never waited more than three hours. Staying any longer would be a waste of time. Not that this wasn't already a waste of his time.

He idly wondered what exactly Youji saw in these clubs. And whether Youji was in one at the moment. Weekend, weekday, it never seemed to make a difference to the older man. But then again, they both had morning shift. So perhaps he was at home.

It shouldn't matter.

The sake bottle was empty. Ran checked his watch again. It was time to go. He threw some money on the table and grabbed his jacket, pushing his arms into it and sliding out of the booth in the same motion. The cigarettes he shoved into his pocket. An impulse buy. Since when did he give in to his impulses?

_Since Youji_, that voice whispered.

He ignored it and headed toward the exit. The fall air washed over his skin as he stepped out of the club, crisp and cool. It cleared his head, stuffy from the cigarettes and noise at the bar. A few people were on the streets, going from one somewhere to another. He willed them not to see him, not wanting to endure the curious and frequently appraising stares he usually elicited from the general public, and they did not.

So he was relatively invisible as he made his way down the stairs to the subway station. Everything was white and yellow tile, clean and unpleasantly bright under the electric lights. Ran's boots boomed in the unnatural emptiness of the corridors.

The car he chose was completely empty. It swayed as it moved, and Ran laid his cheek on the cool window and stared out at the lights blinking past. His solitude was interrupted two stops away from the Koneko when a group of giggling college students got on. They filled the previously empty car with boisterous chatter, isolating him in his corner seat.

He felt, as he watched a girl who was around Ken's age shyly take the hand of a boy sitting next to her, very alone. The feeling persisted as he exited the train and emerged into the cold night air.

It was funny. He had never even felt that he was alone until he had killed Takatori. He had felt exultant, triumphant, standing there on the roof with the fire burning all around him and Takatori's blood still dripping from his blade. And then all the grief that he had buried under his righteous anger had burst forth, and he had cried for those he had lost for the first time, sitting silently in his room, locked in his inability to reach out.

When he had fulfilled his revenge, he had also destroyed his own purpose, the conviction that had kept him going after the loss of his family, and the failure of Crashers. Because Aya-chan hadn't woken up, and he was still completely, dreadfully alone.

But then Youji had touched him, had marked him and talked to him and been angry when he'd gone. Youji had changed things, simply by noticing that he was there. He hadn't been able to resist the allure of companionship, even if it was only an illusion. As time went on, though, he realized, that companionship would become real, if he could stand the pain of Youji unburying his heart and holding it in his hands.

Ran opened the back door and slipped inside, hopping a little as he wrenched off his boots without sitting down. Suddenly, his room no longer seemed a sanctuary. Suddenly, his bed was no longer inviting.

He found himself standing in front of Youji's door without remembering how he had gotten there. He paused for a long moment, considering, before sweeping all reason aside and twisting the knob.

"Aya?" Youji's voice was deep and sleepy.

"Yes," Ran replied, softly closing the door behind him. 

There was a rustling of sheets from the bed. "Lemme turn the lamp on," Youji said. "It's a mess in here."

"No," Ran said, and made it through his memory of the jumble with only a stubbed toe. To turn on the light would ruin the moment, break the spell, stop the cycle. The light would only remind him that this was a mistake, the wrong thing to do, when he desperately wished it wasn't, that it didn't feel so right.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling the warmth of Youji's legs through the sheets. The curtains were open slightly, sending a slash of moonlight across the room. As his eyes adjusted to the almost dark, Ran curled his toes on the floor, and reflected that he really had no idea what he was doing. Youji had always come to him before, but would he welcome Ran now? He wondered dully if it made a difference that he was in Youji's private space, waking Youji from his dreams. He wondered if he should go.

"Did you get the information?" Youji shifted slightly under the blankets, some of the warmth withdrawing from Ran's back.

Ran's frustration rose again like bile, bitter on the back of his tongue. "No." He kept his voice carefully controlled. "He didn't show up."

"Oh." Youji moved again, presumably to sit against the headboard.

Ran looked at his feet in the dim light. "He is unreliable at the best of times," he said, by way of explanation, "but always honest." Manx wouldn't be happy about this, he was sure. Just one more black mark against him in her little book.

Sighing, he leaned back on his elbows, consciously trying to relax his back muscles and trying not to think about what he was doing. Which was what, exactly?

"Aya?" Youji sounded slightly confused and still half asleep.

And he had a right to be both those things, Ran mused wryly. He didn't know how to articulate what he wanted at the best of times. "Hn," he replied, letting his body relax fully on the bed, perpendicular to Youji, and closing his eyes. _Not thinking._

Youji's weight shifted on the bed. Ran turned his head slowly and opened his eyes, seeking Youji's gaze in the darkness. "What do you want, Aya?" Youji asked, hugging his knees to his chest, his eyes searching Ran's face.

Instead of answering, Ran brought up his hand to lightly touch Youji's cheek, feeling as if he were moving through sand.

"Okay," Youji whispered, turning so he could press his lips into Ran's palm. "Okay."

An enormous burden was lifted from Ran's shoulders at Youji's easy acquiescence. He didn't have to say anything. Youji knew. Youji understood. He had never even thought it possible before.

Youji took Ran's hand in his own and kissed his wrist, then, tucking his legs under him, the inside of Ran's elbow. He leaned over Ran, his hair swinging in his face, and kissed him. The kiss was soft, a little sleepy as Youji slipped his tongue between Ran's lips and tasted the sake Ran knew was still lingering there.

"You taste sweet," Youji murmured.

Ran propped himself up on his elbow and kissed Youji again. He slid his hand around the back of Youji's neck, fingers tangling in the curly blonde hair, rhythmically tightening and releasing as Youji pressed the kiss deeper. He felt a tug on his shirt and cracked an eye open, seeing Youji's long fingers toying with the laces threaded through the eyelets.

"I really like this shirt," Youji said softly against Ran's ear, "but you're wearing too many clothes right now," he finished, his hand finally tugging the laces undone.

Pushing himself up to a sitting position again, Ran had to agree. Youji knelt in the middle of the bed, golden skin glowing a little in the moonlight. The sheets were puddled around his knees, and he was, Ran discovered, gloriously naked and already mostly hard. Crossing his arms, Ran tugged his shirt over his head in one smooth movement, dropping it on the floor and shaking his hair back into place. He bent down and unzipped the side zips up to his knees on his pants.

Youji made a soft sound as Ran stood up. "I didn't know you owned leather pants," he breathed.

Ran raised his eyebrows. "More than one pair," he said, slowly unbuttoning his fly. Youji watched in rapt attention as he slid them over his hips, hooking his thumbs under his socks and pulling them off one at a time as he stepped out of his pants. Ran straightened slowly, suddenly feeling exposed and more than a little shy. He had never purposefully showed anyone his body before, always hiding in the darkness of his room. He was squirmingly aware of his erection as it jutted out at half mast from his groin, the old silvery scars on his shoulder, all his thousand and one tiny imperfections.

Keeping his eyes locked on Ran's, Youji stretched out on the bed, baring himself to the same kind of scrutiny. He smiled, and gestured to the empty space beside him in invitation. Ran stood frozen for a moment, amazed at the perceptiveness, and sheer _kindness_ of the man in front of him.

He took a moment just to look at Youji, to allow himself to memorize the lean lines of his body, legs that seemed to go on forever, the tantalizing dip of his hipbones, the curls that surrounded his sex, much darker than his hair. Understated muscles, chiseled abs, dark nipples peaking in the air of the room, a certain lithe quality about him, even relaxing indolently into the soft mattress.

"Ran?" Youji asked softly, turning on his side and seeking Ran's gaze with wide green eyes, the haze of sleep mostly gone.

Jolted out of his reverie by the sound of his true name, Ran came back to himself. Climbing onto the bed to kneel next to Youji, he planted a firm hand in the other man's chest and pushed him down. The push changed into a caress as Youji let himself fall back, arching slightly under Ran's gentle touch.

Youji sighed as Ran pressed his lips lightly against his ribcage, slowly working his way over the flesh he had marred, the bruises mostly faded to the barest hint of color. He dropped light kisses over the taut body, moving teasingly slow up Youji's chest. The blonde's breath caught in his throat as Ran's hands skimmed his sides.

Ran nibbled his way up Youji's neck, kissing his jaw where the bruise had been, purple at first, then fading to yellow, and now just shadow, hiding underneath light stubble. He cupped Youji's face in his right hand, and kissed his jaw again, as if he could somehow soothe away the hurt he had caused.

"It's okay," Youji whispered close to his ear, pressing his cheek into Ran's palm and smoothing a hand down his back.

"No," Ran said, and kissed Youji on the lips this time. No, in truth, it wasn't okay, and he regretted his actions, yet he still couldn't bring himself to say so.

The kiss was long and deep, and Ran lingered there, on Youji's soft lips. How, after all that Ran had done, and all that he'd not said, could Youji be so willing, so giving, _understanding_? He felt as though he could pour everything he was into Youji, and Youji would embrace him. He was forgiving, so good, so everything that Ran was _not_.

His hand wandered over Youji's chest, drifting lower in small circles, lightly scraping his nails against the smooth skin, idly wondering how Youji kept his tan all year long. He slid his hand against the blonde's flat belly, and felt the muscles bunch and twist under his teasing touch. The scent of vanilla and musk wafted up from the faint beads of perspiration emerging from Youji's skin. Ran's hand at last reached the base of Youji's erection and he slid his index finger up the big vein on the underside. Youji inhaled shakily and buried his face in Ran's neck, suckling gently.

Youji shuddered and moaned as Ran continued to tease him, never keeping the same rhythm long enough to offer any kind of release. Dipping his head to Youji's chest, Ran swirled his tongue around a chocolate colored nipple, nipping it lightly with his teeth. Youji slid a hand around his neck, brushing the most sensitive spot behind his ear with clever fingers and whispering something that Ran couldn't quite make out. His cock jumped, but he ignored it. Ran felt strangely like they had switched places, and he was Youji, seducing Aya with a language that had no words. How could he have possibly resisted?

He let his fingers wander farther, caressing Youji's balls, gently massaging them. Youji spread his legs and pushed his hips upward, and Ran couldn't resist dipping down lower. He circled the small ring of muscle lightly as Youji surged up and kissed him hard. Their tongues warred with each other until Ran broke the kiss.

"How long?" Ran asked, pushing just the tip of his finger in, but no farther.

"Long time," Youji gasped. "A while before you." He shoved his hand under his pillow and brought out an almost empty tube. "Here."

At least six months then. Maybe longer. Ran took the lube from Youji's outstretched hand and gently nudged his hip. "Turn over," he said.

Youji's eyes were questioning, but he complied. The smooth skin of Youji's back was broken by two ugly circles of puckered flesh, just above where his heart should be. Ran had never asked about them. He had never thought to be curious before, but now small pieces of things Youji had said were coming back to him, and he wanted to know their story. He knew this much – Youji had been lucky. The bullets had gone in under Youji's collarbone, missed his ribs and his heart, and exited out the back. One scar was breathlessly close to his spine.

Ran grabbed a pillow from the pile at the head of Youji's bed. "Lift up your hips," he said, and slid the pillow easily underneath. He let his hand grasp Youji's erection for a long moment, making sure it was laying flat underneath his stomach.

Squirming, Youji propped himself up on his elbows and looked over his shoulder at Ran. Ran placed his hand in the middle of Youji's back, but didn't push as Youji's eyes searched his face. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he had found in Ran's gaze, he let his body relax.

"I trust you," Youji said, his voice muffled by the pillows.

Ran smoothed his hand down Youji's back in lieu of answering, tracing the line of Youji's backbone all the way down to the slight dip at the base of his spine. Lightly keeping the contact, Ran settled himself in between Youji's legs, nudging them slightly farther apart to give himself room. He ran his hands up Youji's thighs before planting his hands firmly on either side of the other man's back, and bending his head down to kiss each shoulder before moving lower.

Youji's hips jerked as Ran pressed his lips to the sensitive spot on his lower back. Opening his mouth, Ran tasted Youji's skin delicately with his tongue. It was smooth and slightly salty and felt cool compared to the heat of his mouth. He lingered there, reveling in the way Youji's hips arched upward at every touch. 

Suddenly, Ran sucked hard, making Youji moan in response. A moment later, he released the small patch of skin, soothing the darkening welt with his thumb. Payback, a little, for the marks Youji had left on his neck in the past.

Moaning again as Ran trailed his finger down the cleft of his ass, Youji said, "Please, Ran."

Ran pressed another long kiss to the base of Youji's spine, making the blonde writhe in pleasure. He stretched his hand out for the lube, lying half buried in blankets where he had dropped it. Flipping the top, he squeezed some of the cool gel in a line on his finger. He gently circled the tight ring of muscle before sliding his finger slowly inside, twisting it to spread the lube around as much as possible.

He took his time preparing Youji, mindful of how long it had been and his almost assuredly bruised tailbone. Youji was panting and clenching the pillows around his head by the time Ran decided he was ready.

Youji sighed when Ran withdrew his fingers, and the sound went straight to his groin, bringing the throbbing erection between his legs to his immediate attention. Ran's thighs pressed against Youji's, nudging his legs farther apart, the contact sending a jolt through him. He reached for the lube again as he bent forward once more to press his lips against the rapidly darkening welt he'd raised.

Spreading a thin coat of gel over his palm, Ran hissed as he fisted his erection. Youji was still breathing heavily, but shifted slightly to look over his shoulder as best he could without lifting his head. Ran put his dry hand on Youji's ass and squeezed, silently urging the man to turn back, to relax.

Youji did and Ran moved forward, pressing the tip of his weeping cock into Youji's waiting entrance, pausing until Youji had caught his breath before slowly pushing farther in. He buried himself in Youji's tight passage, pressing forward until their hips touched, then smoothly pulling out, establishing a steady rhythm. Youji made a soft noise, burying his head in the pillows as Ran slid across his prostate, hips jerking against the pillow Ran had placed under him.

Ran's hands caressed Youji's sweat slicked sides before finding purchase at his waist. With each stroke forward, he could feel Youji writhe underneath him with mounting pleasure. The blonde pressed his hips back against Ran's, an unvoiced plea for more, faster, harder.

Ignoring the way his balls ached for release, the breathy moan Youji made with each thrust, Ran continued to torture them both with long slow strokes. He lost himself in the rhythms of Youji's body, sheathing himself completely in the blonde, and feeling Youji accept him over and over again. Suddenly, Youji let out a choked cry and clamped down hard. The air left Ran's lungs in one breath, and he gripped Youji's hips as he came helplessly inside the older man's passage.

Ran collapsed atop Youji, burying his face in between the older man's shoulder blades. Harsh breathing and rapid heartbeats gradually faded away as he savored the moment, filling his senses with all that was Youji: the vanilla still lingering on his skin from a shower, the heat of his body against Ran's chest, the soft catch in his breath from too many cigarettes.

He rolled off Youji and sat up on the edge of the bed, wincing a little as his sensitized cock slid completely out of Youji's body. He had to get away. He'd lingered too long already. It was a mistake, coming to Youji.

Youji seemed to be dozing as Ran climbed off the bed, trying not to jostle the other man and wake him. What had he been thinking? The problem was that he hadn't been.

"Hey," Youji muttered, stretching a hand out over the edge of the bed toward Ran, fingers just brushing his thigh. "Stay?"

Ran froze, his shirt dangling from his loosened grasp. Could he? Youji was both safe and dangerous at the same time. On the one hand, he offered relief from the overwhelming sense of loneliness Ran had only recently come to grips with. But then, Youji also threatened his way of life, his existence. There was the key - existence. Because Ran with Youji and Ran without Youji was like the difference between living and merely existing. Youji made him want to live, when all he had wanted before was for his sister to wake up so he could die. His revenge was sought, his mission complete.

"I can't," he whispered, pulling on his pants.

Youji propped himself up, watching him with hooded eyes, but he didn't speak as Ran fled to the confines of his own room.


	18. Eighteen

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Eighteen   
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"Oi, Aya," Youji sprawled over the back of the chair Ran was reading in. "Come out to lunch with me."

"I'm reading." Ran didn't even look up.

"Ay-an," Youji sing-songed. "Come on. You've got to be about as sick of take out and Omi's cooking as I am. My treat. Please?" Youji felt like he was suspiciously close to begging, but he had good reason. He'd finally decided he needed to talk to Ran about their relationship, or more precisiely, lack thereof. If he could just get the stubborn prick out of the house for a while and some place where Youji could gather his nerve.

But Ran showed no signs of budging.

Violet eyes shifted up to Youji's face for a heart beat, then turned back to the hardbound book Youji's mal-tempered lover seemed to be engrossed in.

"Come on, Aya. You need to get out. I know this great little place, not too crowded, great coffee and sandwiches." An idea struck. "It's not that far from the Magic Bus," Youji said, lowering his voice. "I'll drop you by after, if you want."

"Kudou," Ran growled.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Aya. It's just lunch."

"Fine." Ran snapped his book shut and tucked it into the space between the cushions and the arm. Almost no one else sat there; it had a bad view of the television set.

Even after that, it was still easier than Youji had expected.

The car ride was mostly silent. Out of the corner of his eye Youji watched Ran's eartails dance in the wind under 7's open top. Youji hair was pulled down in a tight tail at the base of his neck, the pieces that were too short securely tucked behind his ears and out of his face. Ran huddled down in his seat, steadfastly looking out his window and ignoring the curtain of red that occasionally dropped in front of his vision. To Youji's eyes, Ran looked truly unhappy to be out of the house, and he almost felt bad about it. But there were things he needed to do, words he needed to say, and he couldn't do it in their home where Ken or Omi could come waltzing through at any moment.

Youji easily swung into a spot on the street in front of his favorite café. He locked up his roadster, but didn't bother buttoning it up all the way. The sky was a crisp clear blue, no sign of rain, and he would be able to keep an eye on the car through the line of windows fronting the eatery.

"Youji!" The waitress greeted Youji with an exuberant grin when he stepped through the door, Ran close behind him. "Haven't seen you around for a while."

"Things have been busy, Aiko" Youji answered, bending slightly to kiss her on the cheek. She was a nice girl, a couple years older than Youji, and had been a very comforting shoulder during some of his darker times.

"Too busy to stop by and see me? You probably haven't eaten in a month then."

Aiko also had the annoying tendency to mother Youji. "I've been eating just fine, thank you," he winked.

"Sure." She didn't sound convinced, though she smiled. 

Though his attention was mostly focused on Aiko, Youji saw Ran staring pointedly out the window, or around the café, appearing not to be paying attention to the conversation right in front of him. About the same time, Aiko finally noticed him over Youji's shoulder. Amazing though it was with his hair, Ran had a talent of not being noticed if he didn't want to be. And so far he hadn't said a word to draw attention to himself.

"And you brought a friend," Aiko observed with a peculiar look.

"Aiko, this is Aya, one of my roommates," Youji handed out the simplest explanation possible. She knew better than to ask questions anyway. 

"Mm. He's cute." She leaned around Youji to smile at Ran, who was blushing just slightly. "Do you need a menu?"

Youji shrugged when Ran looked in his direction. Aiko probably had his order in with the cook as soon as he stepped through the door. "Iie," he answered.

Aiko waved them on then, letting Youji find his own table, his favorite booth near the back in a slightly darker corner. He let the redhead take the seat facing the door; it wasn't that Youji was particularly comfortable with his back to the room, but he trusted Ran enough to keep an eye out, and he knew that the other man would be increasingly anxious as time went by if he couldn't see the door.

Aiko stopped by with two cups of coffee and took down Ran's order. Youji figured his order was already on the grill; the entire staff at the café knew what he wanted, depending on what time of day he stopped in.

Silence hung over the table while Youji doctored his coffee with three packets of sugar; Ran took his black. When Youji looked up after his first sip, he met Ran's questioning gaze.

"I used to come here with my partner, when I was a PI," Youji explained as he idly stirred his coffee. "I kept up the tradition after she – died."

Ran nodded, and they slipped back into silence. Youji sipped at his coffee between bouts of almost nervous stirring. He was beginning to think that maybe bringing Ran out to talk was a bad idea. It seemed to be going nowhere fast, the silences stretching from comfortable pauses into awkward expanses of time. He knew that Ran wasn't good with words, and he didn't expect small talk, but they were both intelligent men. Shouldn't one of them be able to come up with something to say?

Youji almost pounced Aiko in gratitude as she appeared with their lunches and a refill. A turkey melt on sourdough and fries for Youji and ham and swiss on rye for Ran. Youji drowned his fries in ketchup; Ran coated his with salt. They ate in silence, broken only by the sounds of their cups hitting the table. Aiko stopped by once more to refill their coffee again, and moved on without a word. Youji wondered if she sensed something, like the almost palpable sexual tension that loomed over the table. 

Since the night Ran had come to him, waking Youji from a dead sleep dressed in leather pants of all things, the dynamic between them had changed. Things were different since Youji asked Ran to stay. Youji knew that Ran wanted, but what he wasn't sure, and he knew that Ran wouldn't ask, didn't know how. So that left it up to Youji.

"It's good," Ran said quietly around his napkin.

"I told you, they have good sandwiches," Youji grinned, accepting Ran's statement for what it was; a tacit apology for not making better conversation. Or any conversation.

They finished their meal in silence, and Youji dropped a pile of cash on the table to cover the bill. He led Ran outside, fishing his pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and lighting one up, despite the look on Ran's face. "I have a couple stops to make, before I drop you at the hospital," Youji said. "Is that okay?"

"Aa," Ran answered, sliding into the passenger seat.

Youji instinctively found his way to the alley, the location forever ingrained in his memory. He turned off the engine and sat behind the wheel of Super7 for a few minutes, before finding the courage to unlock his seatbelt and door and climb out. He'd only been in the alley twice, and both times, he'd almost died there. That alley haunted his dreams, when he wasn't drunk enough to forget or sleep without dreaming.

"Asuka died here," Youji said softly, aware that Ran was close, having heard him exit the car behind him. He was seeing double, the images of the past superimposed over the present. "We just barely escaped, and they were on us the whole way. I had been shot, twice," Youji recited, his words coming faster as he remembered. It hurt, physically and mentally, going back to that place, that time. Old scars ached with sudden sharpness, making Youji suck in a breath and bite his lip for a brief moment until the flare passed.

"She'd grown up here, knew the back alleys and the short cuts. Asuka stuck me in a corner, hid me in the shadows with her jacket tied around my chest while she went for help. They caught her, there," Youji pointed, seeing the three men with guns, Asuka running away, her teal colored hair flying back as the bullets impacted her back, sound echoing off the walls when he screamed her name. 

"I don't know how they never found me," Youji whispered. "I screamed, and then I must have passed out. I woke up in the hospital with a police guard sitting next to the door."

Ran didn't say a word throughout Youji's recitation, but Youji could feel him near, sensed his presence. He continued to stand there, staring off as the scene replayed itself for his eyes only. He hadn't been to this place since the last time he'd taken on Riot, and all the memories were flooding him. Asuka, Maki, the girl he'd rescued and only gotten killed, all of it came rushing back as he stood there. He could almost smell the gunpowder and blood, hear the steps of booted feet running down the adjoining alleys.

He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He turned and met Ran's eyes, understanding lurking in the purple depths though he didn't say a word. Youji shook his head to clear it of the fog of memories, and they both took a step back, breaking that brief contact between the two of them, the all too short bridge of common ground. They'd both lost, and maybe they'd found again. But Youji would never know unless he asked.

"I have one more place to show you," he said softly. "If that's okay?" He didn't want to push Ran into anything, but still, Youji felt it was something he needed to do. The last place he wanted to take Ran was important in many ways.

Ran nodded, leading the way back to the car. Youji stopped a few steps away and turned back to the opening in the alley where he had last seen his partner. "Goodbye, Asuka," he whispered.

He climbed behind the wheel of his car again, buckling himself as he started the engine and slid into gear. The drive was a short one, once again in silence, but it didn't seem as tense to the blonde. Maybe they'd finally found a connection, something they shared beyond nights of casual sex and murder. Maybe Ran realized what Youji's intentions were.

But whatever it was, Youji enjoyed it as he wound through city streets toward his next destination. He hadn't felt as at peace with himself in a long time, hadn't experienced such calm tranquility within him since before Asuka had died. Was that how he knew he was doing the right thing? Youji wasn't sure, couldn't say for certain, but knew that it felt right, and that there was no sense in turning back.

Youji parked in the nearly empty lot. The small complex of offices appeared to be mostly unoccupied for the day. But it was Sunday, and only the die hards would be in their offices when the rest of the country took the day off. He led a suspiciously pliant Ran through the hive of small offices to one at the back, and uncovered the key from it's hiding place.

"I've been doing a lot of thinking about closure," Youji said as he flipped the locks on the office door. The letters on the door had been scraped off, but since he was maintaining the rent on the space, no one had bothered to replace them.

"I used to share this office with Asuka," he explained, flipping on the lights. A light layer of dust covered everything; it had been awhile since he'd been there. "One of the reasons I've been keeping it is to hold on to a piece of my past. But I think it's time to move on. Asuka's been dead a long time, and I've been letting myself live in the past without any thought to my future.

"I joined Kritiker because I had no where else to go," Youji said almost absentmindedly. "Manx approached me while I was still in the hospital. It was kind of a two way deal. They could make protect me from Riot, make me disappear, and in exchange, I would work for them. I had the skills already; they put me through a little more training after I was released and I started a new life."

Youji looked up and saw Ran watching him intently. "But I've never been able to let go of my past. I didn't have a reason to want to. But now I think I do. I'm ready to make some changes, to put some things behind me and move on."

Apparently, Youji realized, he was being too subtle. Ran stared blankly back at him, not comprehending where Youji was trying to lead the conversation.

"Dammit, Aya!" Youji sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm trying to say I'm tired of the way things are. I don't want to be sitting around at night wondering when you're going to get up and leave and not tell me. I'd like to be able to spend time with you that doesn't involve fucking and one of us leaving. I want to wake up next to you, to be able to feel like I can make a mistake and you're not going to beat the shit out of me."

He took a breath and continued. "I want to hear more about your sister. I want to know what your favorite book is, favorite food, favorite color, movie, whether you prefer chocolate over vanilla. I want to know *you*, Ran," Youji risked using his real name. "I want you to be a part of my life, not just when we need a casual fuck, but all the time."

Ran looked at Youji with an empty expression on his face, and Youji felt his heart plummet to the bottom of his stomach. He'd expected some kind of reaction, yelling, a beating, god forbid a smile, anything. He hadn't expected Ran to stand there and stare at him like he'd suddenly grown a second head. 

"Anyway," Youji swallowed. His mouth had gone suddenly dry. "I've been keeping this place up as a safehouse," he explained. "There's cash and food stashed away, along with a medical kit. Kritiker doesn't know about it. Neither do Ken and Omi."

He wasn't sure why he was telling Ran about the stash, other than to redirect the conversation so neither of them had time to think about the gaffe he had just made. And maybe Ran could use it to save himself someday, if Youji didn't use it as an escape route first.

Youji replaced the key in its hiding spot, letting Ran see how the hole was accessed. There was no point in sharing the bolt-hole if Ran didn't know how to get into it. They walked to the car in silence, Youji shoving his hands deep into his pockets and huddling down in his jacket from chill as much as the weight of disappointment settling over him.

"Do you want me to drop you at the hospital?" Youji asked, trying to push down on the sense of sadness and loss that was threatening to swallow him whole.

"Yes," Ran said simply, buckling himself into Youji's roadster.

Youji pulled into traffic, easily accelerating and merging into the lane he needed to get back to the Magic Bus. The silence was less charged this time, but no less oppressive as Youji weighed his options. He'd made a mistake, but not one he couldn't recover from. He'd misread Ran, misunderstood his intentions. But he could fix it. Pull on the playboy cover like an old favorite pair of pants and start hitting the bars again and all would be forgotten. Ran would find his ice mask and face the world with it again, and everything would go back to the way it used to be.

Until the next time he got lonely.

But Youji would get Omi to switch the shifts around for a week or so, so that he wouldn't have to work with Ran. Give himself some time to put distance between them again. He would deal with the missions as they came. They couldn't be helped. And too much distance would get them all killed.

Youji pulled into the driveway of the Magic Bus, pulling up as close as he could to the door. He didn't shut off the engine, didn't take his eyes off the steering wheel as he heard the click and slide of Ran getting out of his seat belt.

"Youji," Ran started as he opened the door.

"What?"

"I prefer vanilla," the redhead said as he slid out the door.

Youji turned suddenly and watched the slim form walk up the sidewalk without looking back. A large grin spread across Youji's face and new hope welled within him. Maybe the afternoon hadn't been wasted after all.


	19. Nineteen

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Nineteen   
  
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Sitting and thinking wasn't entirely new for Ran. Sitting and thinking about Youji, however, was turning out to be surprisingly difficult. He leaned his head against the back of his chair and sighed.

It had almost been a week since Youji had taken him to his old office. The days had passed, for the most part, uneventfully. Ran would have been content to leave it at that, but he sensed that the older man was still holding back, still unsure of what Ran wanted, and unwilling to completely commit himself because of that. They had shared some quiet reflective moments together, gone to a movie, woken up next to each other in Ran's bed (but only once - Youji was a bed hog), but Ran knew he needed to do something more.

Or perhaps he should do nothing at all.

He was still torn, both regretting his words in the car, and pleased with them at the same time. It had almost taken him too long to find his voice that day, but the look on Youji's face, and his subsequent, almost palpable happiness had been gratifying. Gratifying, but ...

Was this really what he wanted? Aya-chan was still in a coma. Could he be with Youji and yet not betray his dedication to his sister? He wasn't sure. A true relationship with Youji was more than he had ever expected, and Youji's outburst at the office had surprised him into speechlessness. It wasn't every day that someone offered him practically forever on a plate.

Ran just wasn't sure he could do almost practically forever. Aya-chan would never cease to be the most important thing in his life, and he was sure that Youji wouldn't understand. And _when_ she woke up ... he wasn't sure of the future after that.

One thing kept nagging at him, though. He knew, he _knew_, that if he didn't at least try, he would always wonder whether Youji would have been able to alleviate the solitude of his life, even just for a little while. That wondering would consume him, just as he had allowed his twisted hope of life for his sister drive him for so long. And there was that small bit of his heart left, that no one, not even Yuushi, had been able to touch.

Youji had almost reached it.

So he needed to do something. Nodding once to himself, Ran stood, grabbing his jacket and his car keys on the way out his bedroom door.

Shoving his car keys in his jacket pocket, Ran poked his head around the living room door. Youji was spread out on the couch, a forbidden cigarette held loosely in the hand dangling over the edge, an arm thrown over his eyes. He stole forward on silent feet, and plucked the burning cigarette out of Youji's tenuous grasp.

"Hey!" The blond sat up, making a grab for his stolen smoke.

Ran stuck it between his lips and gave an experimental pull. "Let's go," he said around the cigarette. After rolling the smoke around his tongue for a moment, he stubbed it out in the ashtray sitting on the coffee table. He preferred flavored cigarettes, he decided.

Youji raised his eyebrows at the thin stream of smoke Ran sent toward the ceiling. "Go?" he asked. "Go where?"

"Out," Ran said vaguely, turning on his heel and walking out of the room.

Obligingly following him, Youji said, "Out?" expectantly.

"Yes," Ran replied, digging through the closet and handing Youji his coat. "Out. Put on your shoes."

Youji trailed him to the kitchen, easily catching his boots as Ran tossed them over from their customary place by the door. Ran tugged on his own shoes, lacing them up as Youji sat at the kitchen table to shove his feet into his boots. "We're taking my car," he said when he saw Youji casting around for his keys.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going" Youji persisted, following close on Ran's heels as he headed to the garage where his Porsche was parked.

Ran shrugged. Youji fell silent after that, buckling himself in and staring out the window as Ran backed out of the shop and turned onto the street. Youji slouched in the low bucket seat, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm on one jean-clad thigh, every so often shooting a curious glance in Ran's direction.

"I want to show you something," Ran said, turning into a street that was very nearly an alley.

Sitting up a little, Youji looked around the neighborhood they were entering nervously. "Oh?" he said.

Youji had a right to look nervous. The section of town they were heading toward was very different from modern, bright Tokyo. This was where the young hopeful yakuza hung out, where the bums slept, where tourists, if they were so unlucky as to stumble upon it, died. The buildings grew grayer and more ramshackle, until at last, Ran drew up in front of an old apartment building, half falling down and covered in graffiti.

"You can't park here." Youji pointed toward the fire hydrant, paint chipping and peeling off its rusted sides.

"Don't worry," Ran said, slipping out of the car and slamming the door, not even bothering to lock it.

Youji shut his door much more quietly and stood on the crumbling sidewalk, shifting from foot to foot.

"Come on." Ran started to walk toward the condemned building.

"You're just going to leave your car here?" Youji looked over his shoulder at the Porsche, a shining beacon of money amidst the squalor.

Ran gestured sharply with his chin at a greasy young man loitering in the alley next to the apartments. "They won't touch it," he said. The man nodded and sauntered back into the alley.

"If you say so," Youji muttered, following Ran up the worn concrete steps to the entrance of the apartment building. What was left of the doors hung crazily on the few remaining hinges, splintered wooden squares still retaining some small shards of glass. Everything that was even remotely useful had been salvaged long ago, including the striped awning that had once hung above the door and the handles themselves.

Youji stuck close behind Ran as they picked their way through the halls of the broken down building. The stairs creaked ominously, as usual. Ran wasn't worried. This building was maintained - and made to look worse than it actually was. It came in handy for numerous organizations.

Shoving open the door to the third floor, Ran kicked some garbage out of their path and headed for the very end of the dilapidated hallway. The light blue door marked 302 was only a decoy. He pulled it open and the true recessed steel door was revealed. With the touch of the single button, a keypad slid out.

"Whoa." Youji raised his eyebrows, obviously impressed at the security precautions.

Amused, Ran pushed the door open and lead the way into the apartment. "I'll give you the code," he said. "Feel free to use it."

"How long have you had this place?" Youji asked, his voice bouncing off the bare walls and hardwood floors.

Ran shrugged. "A while," he replied. He had acquired the apartment shortly after Crashers, mostly through luck. He had simply been in the right place at the right time, and this apartment was the way he had chosen his favor to be repaid. That and the strict no prying rule.

The apartment was small, but it suited his needs. The living room was empty, except for a lone wooden chair kindly donated by the previous occupant. There was a small kitchen off to the left, and a bedroom on the right. There was a large bay window facing the street, but a ratty sheet hung crookedly over it, out of necessity. Even though it was on the third floor, Ran wasn't going to take the chance that someone would see in.

"This could be a really nice place, with some work." Youji opened the door to the bedroom, and Ran followed him, leaning in the doorframe as the older man slowly looked around. 

Ran had torn most of the hideous wallpaper off the bedroom walls already. The walls underneath were yellow with old glue, but sound. The only furniture in the room was a large mattress shoved in one corner, and a hospital bed.

Youji touched the railings of the bed. "For Aya-chan?" he asked.

Ran nodded. "Kritiker doesn't know about this place," he said, finally entering the room and folding himself down to sit on the mattress.

"I figured," Youji said dryly.

Shuffling his feet on the floor, Ran thought about the safehouse. It had originally been a jump off point, but once he had settled in Tokyo, he had bought the hospital bed. He had gotten the mattress after he had killed Takatori. It had taken him that long that long to realize he needed a hiding place more than a way point, and that this apartment was perfect. He implicitly trusted the honor of his benefactors.

"Ran." Youji turned and looked him square in the eye. "Why did you bring me here?"

"I -" Ran was momentarily at a loss for words. He hadn't thought this through; it had been an impulse. "I wanted you to see it," he finished lamely.

"Ran," Youji said again gently, taking the two steps and sitting down on the mattress facing him. "Why did you want me to see it?"

Ran fixed his gaze on Youji's denim covered knees, struggling to put his dilemma into words. "Because," he said at last, "I don't know what will happen in the future. I'm not sure I can promise you anything, but this is a part of my life that no one else knows about, and I wanted to share it with you." He slowly lifted his eyes to Youji's face.

Youji stared off into space for a minute before smiling softly. His eyes were less wary as he said, "Thanks," and leaned in to kiss Ran.

Ran met him halfway, molding their lips together and bringing a hand up to thread through Youji's wavy hair. The kiss felt like an affirmation, somehow, and they were both breathless when it ended. Ran leaned his forehead on Youji's for a moment, their breath mingling. He felt ... alive, and, for the first time since Aya-chan's accident, connected to another human being. "This is good," he said.

"Yeah," Youji replied, and kissed him again. 

They twined their fingers together, and Ran, opening his eyes without breaking the kiss, could see only the glow of Youji's skin, and the dust motes dancing their way to the floor in a shaft of golden sunlight.

_end_

  


A/N: Missa: Thanks for reading. I know I've been bad about replying to feedback, but each piece was read and appreciated. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Katherine: What she said. :D

See ya next time!


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